Across the Sea of Stars
by The Wobbly Guy
Summary: A wandering warrior travels across the stars, as he fights to achieve an unknown destiny. Chapter 12: Battle of Luthien, Part Two. One of the most crucial engagements of the Clan Invasion. And just who the heck is that Archer pilot?!? Pls R&R!
1. Prologue/Drawing First Blood

**Prologue Moreau's Dagger Spiked Heart Desert Babylon, Pentagon Worlds 20th June, 3067 **

A day in the desert. A goliath scorpion scuttled languidly past sunbathed rocks the colour of blood. The air shimmered with intense reflected heat, as the sky, devoid of clouds, is occasionally broken by the lazy flight of a vulture.

In the midst of this great expanse of sand and rock, stood several tall, black spires. Piercing up into the sky, they seemed to be trying to draw blood from the heavens. Many warriors have attempted to climb them using only their wits and their limbs.

Many have failed.

The cost of failure is death.

As we watch, yet another man strived to conquer the obsidian watchtowers of the desert. His hands, bleeding and bruised, searched for another handhold to use on the way up. His arms, aching and sore, protested at every new command from his brain. His legs, tiredly supporting some of his weight, were as heavy as lead. His lips, dry and cracked, struggled to draw more oxygen into his lungs to sustain his torturous ascent.

By sheer force of his will, he continued his painstaking, lonely way up to the summit of the spire he was on.

Moreau's Dagger, they called it. Where Ethan Moreau had gained many of his visions and goals for the future. Where it could be rightly said that the true origins of Clan Goliath Scorpion lie, and not on some forsaken training ground on Strana Mechty. Where humanity first witnessed the potent power of the gift of the Goliath Scorpion, contained within its sting.

The climber nears the top, and just barely maintained his grip as he was buffeted by the strong desert wind. Gritting his teeth, he resisted the temptation to just let go, to let the wind carry him within its deadly embrace. No, he told himself. He had gone through too much, too far, and for too long to give up now!

He finally reached the small piece of flat ground at the summit, flinging an arm over the edge, as he pulled himself off the side of the spire. Looking out below him, he could see the entirety of the desert he had traversed for the past several days. One could easily sink into sleep and exhaustion at this point, but this man had other ideas. Trained from birth to be one of the finest warriors ever witnessed by humanity, he had almost inhuman constitution and willpower.

Unslinging his backpack from his shoulders, he proceeded to built a small campfire with the wood he had brought along. It was not long before the flames were flickering strongly atop the spire, as night fell upon the desert, bringing with it the dangers of intense cold.

The man sat in a meditative position, staring at the flames in front of his eyes, as he struggled to make sense of the twisting path the fates had chosen for him. Everything he had undergone, every battle he had fought, every trial he had endured, had led up to this moment. His destiny, surely, must be close to revelation now!

Did General Ethan Moreau know what he had set in motion, more than two hundred years ago, when he had shouted Nicholas Kerensky's name, the name of the ilKhan of the Clans, from the top of the spire? Did he seek answers to the many questions that must have plagued him with the destruction of the 81st Division, nicknamed the Devils of Devil's Rock, or more importantly, his command? Did the former Star League Defense Force Gunslinger ever regret his decision to remain behind on Babylon, contributing to its ruin?

The warrior knew none of the answers to these questions, but they ran through his head nonetheless, whispering doubts in his mind. He shook his head vigorously, driving away the extraneous thoughts. They were of no use to him.

A bottle of bright green fluid was placed to his right, as a black pouch was laid on his left. Never taking his eyes off the fire, he reached out with his left hand, and dug inside the pouch for an item.

It came out with a piece of blackened mech armour, torn off his mech by a missile from his enemy during his initial trial of position. He had gained the rank of Star Captain in that first battle. The armour piece was fed to the flames.

The hand went into the pouch several more times. As the relics of past battles during the clan invasion were tossed into the fire, he could feel a deep sense of loss, as though he was slowly expunging all physical traces of his past from his present. There was the remnants of a shattered ammo crate from the supply camp on Tukayyid, where he had witnessed such slaughter that even today, he still struggled to comprehend the complex feelings the horrendous campaign stirred within him.

Though it had been fifteen years, he had not forgotten the screams of his men, as the Com Guards swarmed their defensive position in the Losijie District in a singular wave of death, the endless shrieks of autocannon fire, the hoarse roar of massed missile launches, and the thunderous explosions of falling artillery shells shaking him to the very core of his soul.

The next item was a tattered unit patch of the Otomo, the personal bodyguards of the Coordinator of the Draconis Combine, who had fought with such shining courage during the Battle of Luthien. In the end, he had been defeated by a red and black _Archer_ belonging to the Kell Hounds.

A piece of myomer muscle, from the _Atlas_ he had defeated on Avon. The _Atlas_ pilot had surprisingly become one of his most faithful companions, accompanying him on his meandering way amongst the clans. There was no one else the warrior trusted more to cover his back.

There were more sacrifices to be made. The vineers of his career as a Nova Cat warrior were just the beginning of the story.

Now his hand came up with a piece of white bone. It was clear to an observer that the finger bone was too large to be that of any human, even an elemental. The massive claw at the end of it only confirms the fact. A piece from the ghost bear he had killed in a desperate duel for his life, during that clawing ritual years ago, when he was abtakha to Clan Ghost Bear.

A lock of hair from the fiery mane of a hell horse, when he had led his branding party, against all odds, to success and glory. He had been much hated then, within that clan of stouthearted warriors, although he had barely spent more than a year with the Bears. The ancient feud between the Horses and the Bears could never be resolved.

A piece from a hellion mask, taken from an Ice Hellion who had challenged him when he was in that clan of hot heads and hotter tempers.

A coyote tooth, taken during his one month sabbatical in Clan Coyote, where he had hunted alongside the ferocious beasts that were the clan's namesake.

A bent maltese cross, bequeathed to him from a dying comrade when he was with the Cloud Cobras. The Cloisters had started him on the road to better understanding of himself, and the world around him. He would be eternally grateful to ecKhan Peyes Mannix for opening his eyes to the fallacies inherent in the universe.

A patch of wrinkled, shed skin from a star adder, picked up during his Trial of Bloodright in the jungles of Arcadia. Then, he had been with Clan Star Adder, and fighting for his bloodname in an unaugmented battle. The piece of adder skin he had stumbled upon had proven to be a lifesaver.

The fire was blazing with a frightening intensity, as it eagerly devoured the vineers the warrior had thrown into it. He gazed into the flames, watching the memoirs of his life shrivel and warp in the intense heat of the inferno. Tired and drained from the efforts of the past few days, he felt a bit lightheaded, and had to center himself to prevent himself from falling into unconsciousness.

There was one last thing he had to do, as all his vineers had been used. The ritual he was performing was the first, and probably the last of its kind. The vineers he had sacrificed were unique to each clan, an identifier of their strengths and weaknesses. He had experienced life as a warrior in no less than eight clans, probably a record in the history of the clans since their founding by Nicholas Kerensky.

Now cradling the bottle of green fluid in his arms, he proceeded to unstopper it. A strong, slightly nauseating smell drifted up to his nostrils. He quickly fought against the wave of vertigo that had suddenly threatened to overwhelm him, and barely succeeded.

_Necrosia_. The name itself invokes thoughts of ambrosia, the nectar of the gods, and necromancy, the magic of death. And for good reason. The drink of the Goliath Scorpions is deadly and yet possessed of frightening gifts that are bestowed onto those who dare to consume it.

The warrior had to argue long and hard with his superior officers for the supply of the toxic fluid he had obtained before they relented. Normally, when a warrior imbibes necrosia for the first time in his life, it was to be in a strict ritual, with medical care close at hand. More than one Goliath Scorpion had failed the rite of imbibing the toxic fluid, proving the unworthiness of their genes.

Famed for the visions it could bring, as well as the incredible sense of focus it could confer on the drinker at times, the warrior had brought it along specially for his vision rite, where he hoped it would improve his scrying of the future. The original vision rite of the Nova Cats was already very potent and draining, and could sometimes even kill the person undergoing it. By drinking necrosia in the hopes of attaining something even greater, he ran the risk of dying in his endeavour.

He glanced once at the bottle of thick bright green liquid, then flung his head back as he chugged down the entire contents of the bottle in one swallow. He threw the bottle away, and turned his eyes back to the flames. He could already feel the intoxicating effects of the necrosia dulling his senses, beckoning him to rest. He gritted his teeth and strove to stay awake, waiting for a message in the flames. He remembered hearing that visions came easiest when a person was situated in the middle of dreaming and wakefulness.

His resolve sustained him for barely a minute, when his body convulsed from the effects of the necrosia. He collapsed onto the hard black rock of the spire, clinging onto consciousness as he continued to stare into the flames.

Unbidden thought begun to stray into his mind again, as it drifted through his memories. He saw in the flames a large building, metallic and forbidding, where a group of children were trooping out. Looking closer, he could see the sibko patch of the Burning Tooth Sibko on the clothes of the children, as they were led by a grizzled, limping warrior to a waiting hovercraft transport.

He remembered…

_Seek out the past; it is your future._

Loremaster Ethan Moreau, Clan Goliath Scorpion Remembrance **The Nice Guy Presents… ** Across The Sea Of Stars Ways Of Seeing Training Facility, Barcella, Kerensky Cluster 19th April, 3042 

"Hurry up, you little stravag dogs!" Secorra, their training officer, barked.

_Aff, aff, I'm already moving as fast as I can. I am not little, nor am I a dog._ Descartin grumbled in his mind, while lugging along the massive pack that he had just been issued with, containing all the necessities for barracks living.

It seemed very stupid that each and every member of the sibko was likewise grappling with an identical pack, which came to almost their height, and weighed as much as they did. How in name of the Kerenskys did the officers expect them to carry it with any speed?

The ground on which they walked was a flat piece of ground, the grass having been trampled flat long ago by the unforgiving boots of countless cadets and training officers. It served as a parade ground, drilling field, and general practice area. Des wondered why they never got to pave the area with concrete, which would have made movement over it a lot easier.

The line of a dozen cadets from the Burning Tooth snaked to a non-descript building two levels high, with the insignia of their clan on one side the only decoration and mark of affiliation. It would their residence for the rest of their training lives.

Secorra continued haranguing them as they marched, his harsh tone hurting their ears and his incessant spittle showering the nearest cadets with droplets of saliva on their once clean uniforms, now soiled and dirty from the constant dust rising from the ground.

The huge pack had been presented to them the very moment they had stepped off the hoverbus which had brought them to the training facility from their former home in the city suburbs. Next their assigned training officers had introduced themselves, in a fast and unflinching manner that almost made Des' head spin with the speed of their short perfunctory speeches. It was a far cry from the comforting tones of Ulvor, their former sibparent, who had sent them away on the hoverbus.

Their immediate instructors' names were Secorra, a large, grizzled and uncouth looking man in his forties, and Jazelyn, a graceful woman who did not look as if she belonged in the training facility, but rather still on the frontlines of battle.

The overall officer in charge of the facility was Varro Drummond, a former Star Colonel who had decided to retire from battle after sustaining too many internal injuries during his last battle.

The instructors had not wasted any time, immediately shouting at them to proceed to their new barracks to stow their new equipment in their bunks on the second floor, and assemble at the parade ground in twenty minutes time. The cadets were still a bit dazed at the sudden barrage of instructions and orders they had been saddled with after a long journey on the hovercraft, as they hesitantly got to grips with their tasks.

"Not easy at all, quiaff?" Deserk commented as he moved behind Des, also struggling with his pack. Des noted with some relief that Deserk was also having the same amount of trouble with his load.

"Aff. Let us stop complaining and get this as over as quickly as possible." Descartin concentrated, tensing his body as he increased his speed, fighting the weight of the pack every step of the way. He knew he was tiring himself out unnecessarily this way, but he could hardly care less.

In short order, he had taken over at the lead of the line, moving almost at jogging speed as he reached the stairs. Without pausing for a breath, he continued up the stairs at the same speed, pushing himself as he thudded up the steps to the bunks.

He picked the bed nearest to the door as he entered the room, throwing the pack into the locker beside it. He slammed the door of the locker shut, then ran out of the room, feeling a lot lighter and faster now that he was no longer hobbled by the pack.

He burst down the staircase, bounding down the steps one whole flight at a time, and needing only two dangerous leaps to get to the ground level again. As he went down, he passed his sibkin trudging their way up, all their expressions with the same mixed look of jealousy and concern. Jealousy because he had dared to take the lead on their very first task, concern because they still had a whole day of training in front of them.

Des liked, no, _wanted_, to win, to be the first, no matter what they were doing. From being first into the showers to the first to finish eating, he was always among the first few, if not the first to finish a task. The same attitude carried over to their training, and everybody knew he was easily the best among them.

However, he had never sought to impose his own superiority on the others, and perhaps it was this reason, more than any other, that allowed him to remain on good terms with his sibkin. He was accepted as their nominal leader, their head mischief, and the benchmark everybody aspired to.

He slid to a halt on the parade ground in front of Jazelyn, and snapped to attention, allowing a blank look to settle over his face, forcing himself to show no fatigue even as his lungs heaved for air. He kept his posture straight, fighting the urge to slump from exhaustion due to his previous exertions.

She stared at him appraisingly for a few seconds, then looked at the stopwatch on her wrist. She looked relaxed, as though she was not worried at all about the success or failure of his sibko, unlike Secorra, who was getting more agitated and even louder by the second, which Des had not thought possible. Jazelyn possessed a serene calm that was in stark contrast to the permanently uptight Secorra.

_About two minutes left_, Des estimated to himself silently. The others had better hurry up if they did not want to get on the wrong side of their training officer on the very first day.

He heard the sounds of his fellow sibkin as they formed up on him, coming to attention in the exact same posture as he was.

He knew that anyone who looked at the long line of cadets that had formed up would think that he was looking at a group of clones. Strictly speaking, they were not, but the products of a gene matching from two warriors. Siblings did tend to look very similar, especially in such a controlled reproductive process as the scientists used.

Their geneparents were bloodnamed, of course. The clan's eugenics program had a rigid set of rules and guidelines set down by Nicholas Kerensky himself that described in detail the process by which new generations of warriors are to be produced.

The scientists would first take the genetic material of two warriors, then in a reasonable facsimile of the reproductive process, split the chromosome pairs into their respective zygotes. The sperm and/or ova would then be combined in a tube to give the embryonic future possible warrior, who would then mature inside an iron womb.

The technique gives enough assurance of genetic similarity, but also ample randomness in the final genetic product due to the 'jumping gene' effect that nature had employed to ensure genetic diversity and co-opted by clan scientists.

The genefather of their sibko was Star Captain Jifandar Lenardon, an undistinguished warrior who served in many minor skirmishes for the clan, but who never really achieved great fame in battle.

Their genemother was the distinguished one, Star Colonel Hannah Winters. She died while defending one of their primary mech facilities in a Trial of Position with the hated Smoke Jaguars, her cluster destroying over twice their numbers in Jaguar mechs, while she alone accounted for at least five more. That act earned her genetic material immediate use in the breeding program. The Winters bloodname House was primarily known for its elemental lines, but there were still a few mechwarrior lines, all of them renowned and highly prized by the clan. Only the very best genetic material were used, to ensure the skill and abilities of the next generation.

And Descartin was determined to be the very best warrior the clans had ever seen.

Jazelyn looked at her watch just as the last cadet arrived, then looked up with a tight smile.

"Ten seconds of time left. Adequate." She remarked to Secorra, as he strode up just behind the last cadet to fall into line.

"Adequate?" Secorra nearly choked on his saliva as he said this. Des hoped he _would_ choke. "That is not adequate. That is pathetic! These little cubs are weak and slow! Not a single one of them will survive their training, much less become a warrior of the clan!" Descartin tried to watch impassively as Secorra slobbered all over the place.

"Shall we put your belief to the test, then?" Training Commander Varro Drummond asked as he walked to the front of the line of cadets standing rigidly at attention.

"Each of you will bid for the right to take on these cubs." He turned to the cadets. "And you, in turn, shall strive to defeat your instructors. Or at the very least try to." He grinned evilly, a devilish leer that combined with the metal parts all over his body, would have sent others of lesser fortitude to hiding under their beds.

Descartin and his sibko was made of sterner stuff, though, and the display did not frighten them in the least.

"The starting bid is six for each of you." Varro intoned solemnly.

"I bid four cubs for my most esteemed colleague." Secorra sneered at Jazelyn, confident that he could handle all eight of the cadets, leaving her with no glory at all with her easy victory. Nine, on the other hand, would be too much for either of them to handle.

She countered easily. "I bid three for my colleague, and the right to choose his opponents." Her eyes flicked over to Varro Drummond for a while in a gesture that Des could not understand.

Secorra laughed cruelly. "Bargained well and done. I shall defeat any three of these cubs you choose easily, while you shall be pulled under by the weight of nine others. Choose my opponents now!" He swung his arms, loosening the muscles in anticipation of the fight.

Jazelyn did not hesitate. It seemed that she knew who to choose already even before the first bid was made. She pointed at him, Deserk, and Lintya, a girl who was the among the best hand to hand fighters in the sibko.

After himself, of course.

"Step aside from each other, and then we'll begin." Varro turned to the line of cadets. "All of you, do not hold back. They have not yet earned your respect, and to hold back is to hold them in contempt, to underestimate them. And we, the Nova Cats, do not underestimate anyone! Give it your all, and show me, show them, what you are capable of!"

As the line dissolved into two clumps of cadets facing their respective opponents, Varro shouted, "Begin!"

Jazelyn's figure immediately blurred into action, smashing into the cadets with efficiency and effortless grace. Des found himself watching the fight for a while before his eyes were brought back to his own fight by an insult from Secorra.

"Come on, you spineless cowards! Fight me!" Secorra yelled as he started advancing on them menacingly, his huge hands balled into fists.

Turning his head slightly, Descartin exchanged glances with Deserk. Des jerked his head slightly towards Secorra, urging his sibkin to attack first. It was their usual plan for taking on any opponent. Des would let Deserk have the honor of trying to take down an opponent first, and only commit when Deserk was either defeated or severely overmatched.

It started off as a standard bidding ritual amongst themselves, but eventually evolved into its present form when Des seemed to win whenever he won a bid, and Deserk lost when he won the bid. They had come to this arrangement after Deserk had gotten sick of never having 'any fun', as he had put it.

Deserk's eyes rolled upwards as he resigned himself to his fate, moving forward together with Lintya as they split up, forcing Secorra to divide his focus. Their plan was clear, to force him to try to defend from two sides at once.

Secorra laughed in response to their actions, and spotted Descartin standing aloof to one side. "No hiding, cub! Come and face me like a true warrior!"

Des refused to be taunted. He would let Deserk and Lintya have their chance at glory. If they won, he would not have to fight, while if they lost, he would have the advantage of having observed his opponent beforehand. _A true warrior employs guile and cunning in combat._ He stayed where he was, letting his stance irritate the instructor into making a rash move at his sibkin.

Secorra moved towards Lintya first, a massive paw smashing aside her arms as she tried to defend herself, winning through by sheer strength. He threw his other hand forward in a venomous punch, hitting her right in the stomach even as Deserk flung himself into the air on a jump kick.

Deserk smashed into Secorra's back as the big man finished off Lintya with a vicious kick to her face. She sprawled backwards on her back, and laid very still. The only evidence that showed that she still lived was the rapid rise and fall of her chest.

Des stared intently as Secorra easily brushed off Deserk's attack, charging a shoulder into his sibkin as Deserk tried to get up from his kick, then used both palms to slam them against Deserk's temples, as though trying to squash a melon with his hands. Deserk went out like a light, falling unconscious to the ground.

Secorra flicked a finger out disdainfully at Descartin. "I will make this especially painful for you." He was not even winded.

Des cocked his head to one side while walking forward, as if considering the threat. Secorra stepped in swinging a punch around without warning, his body movement not betraying any indication of his attack.

Except Des was already spinning below the blow and to one side, flailing a leg around like a chain as he did so, the tip of his boot a hammer into Secorra's knee joint. He spun away, a mocking smile on his face.

Secorra buckled for a while, before he recovered and tried to get in close to inflict his punishing blows on Descartin. He moved with deceptive speed for his size, getting within arms reach of Des.

As he punched again, Des dropped to the ground and rolled forward until he was to one side of the warrior, then clasped his hands to deal Secorra's knee another damaging blow. He rolled away again as Secorra lashed out with a kick, barely missing the fast moving cadet.

As Des gained some safe distance from the furious instructor, he could see that his attacks had achieved the desired effect of reducing Secorra's mobility. He was favoring his left leg, the one that Des had concentrated on. But Des also knew that he had yet to deal any real hurt on the man.

He closed the distance, this time intentionally telegraphing a swing of his right leg up towards Secorra's face. The instructor predictably caught the foot, but before he could do anything with it, Des was already in the air, his left foot propelling his body from terra firma and then whipping up into Secorra's right cheek. As the injured man howled with pain and released the hold on his right foot, Des moved forward.

It was a trick, as Secorra suddenly slugged him in the stomach just as he advanced, the blow driving all the air from his lungs. Des fell to the ground on his back, as Secorra went in for the kill.

_To hell with it!_ Des shunted away the pain in his middle, but he continued lying on the ground. Just when he sensed Secorra within striking range, he twisted his body around, both legs angled as he spun on his back, using his last reserves of strength to gain momentum as his legs hit into Secorra's legs again. The man stumbled, his hands flailing, and it was all the time Des needed.

Instead of retreating, Des leapt forward this time, Secorra's out of position hands closing in behind him as he launched a hand at Secorra's throat. Secorra's thick arms closed in around Des even as his right hand managed to clutch the man's windpipe. A red haze fell over his vision, as he begun to crush his opponent's throat.

"Stop!" The red haze fled as quickly as it had appeared. "Cadet! You will release the instructor's throat right now!"

Des looked around uncomprehendingly, his hand still on the neck of Secorra in a tight death grip. The words took a moment to register, and Des relaxed his hand slowly. It took him another few seconds before he realized Secorra was already unconscious.

He got to his feet shakily, and took a good look at the other group which had tangled with Jazelyn. They were littered all over the parade field, while Jazelyn looked none the worse for wear. He could swear that she gave a smirk as she looked over Secorra's unconscious body, and a matching grin towards him.

Deserk was groggily getting to his feet as well, while Varro wore an inscrutable look as he observed the scene. Des realized belatedly that it was Training Commander Varro Drummond who had given the orders for him to stop. He felt the red haze threatening to cloud his sight again, as he grew angry at Commander Drummond for stopping the fight.

The Commander seemed to sense his rage, as he walked up to Des, who came to attention despite the pain in his guts. Drummond asked, "You seek satisfaction, quiaff?"

Never taking his eyes off the Commander, Des replied, "Aff."

Varro grinned sardonically as he opened his arms wide. "Take your best shot, cub." An invitation for attack.

Des did not care anymore, even though he knew he should not have spoke back to the Commander in such a manner. He went in, both hands held up, ready to block or absorb any attacks from the Commander.

Drummond did not bat an eyelid as Des punched forward cautiously, ready to pull back to defend. All of a sudden, the Commander shifted forward, his head meeting the punch before it had gained much speed, taking away its sting, and the next thing Des knew, he was hit in the head by a roundhouse that was harder than anything he had ever felt in his life.

He staggered backward, and then another blow that was equally as hard went into his stomach. Des felt something go snap inside him, and blood rising up to his mouth. He flew backwards several meters from the force of the attack, and rolled for several more before stopping.

Des could feel the blood trickling down his chin, as he looked up to Varro, who was standing over him.

"You will obey my instructions. And do not even think that your defeat of Officer Secorra impresses me in the least. There is only one way to earn respect from me, and that is when you are a true warrior of the clan. Jazelyn, get this litter of cubs out of my sight!" Varro started walking away, as Jazelyn started hauling cadets to their feet and shoving them into line. For the second time in the day, Des pushed away the pain his body was feeling, and got into the ranks.

If Varro Drummond had looked back, he would have noticed Descartin's grim smile.

_Finally, a real warrior to look up to. I will beat you one day._

"March! Double time! Left! Right! Left!" Jazelyn started yelling, as the cadets marched back to their bunks, leaving a dizzy Secorra only just coming to his senses.


	2. History Lesson

Ways Of Seeing Training Facility, Barcella, Kerensky Cluster, 19th December 3042 

"General Aleksandr Kerensky, the Great Father, led our ancestors away from the excesses of the Inner Sphere, after the corrupt and decadent House Lords were unable and unwilling to reform the Star League."

Their knowledge tutor Troussier spread his arms expansively. "The Great Kerensky brought the Star League Defense Force to this part of space, where they first colonized the systems that we now know as the Pentagon worlds. What are their names?"

Troussier pointed at Deserk, who was sitting ramrod straight in his seat. Deserk replied almost instantaneously.

"Babylon, Circe, Arcadia, Eden, and Dagda."

"Correct. Now," he pointed at another member of the sibko, a girl called Petra, "Tell me why they are _named_ as such."

To her credit, Petra did not gape even though _none _of them knew the answer to that obscure question. She simply admitted, "I do not know."

"That is all right. To tell the truth, class, nobody knows the answer!" Troussier laughed madly for a moment, which made Des groan inwardly. _Did this have to happen every hour?_

"But there is a pattern in their naming. Arcadia, Babylon, Circe, Dagda, Eden. What is the pattern?" He stabbed a finger this time at Des, who was ready with the answer.

"The first letters of the names of the worlds follow the first five letters of the alphabet."

"Excellent! So you see, the naming of the Pentagon worlds was not wholly without logic!" Troussier beamed, then continued on relating the history of the clans, asking questions at specific members of the sibko and adding in some interesting anecdotes during the course of his telling.

It had been like this for the past few months, as they sat through lesson after lesson taught by Troussier, who seemed deranged with his wild hair, white in color with his advanced age. And in fact, many of them had concluded that he _was_ indeed insane, with his crazy tangents in every lesson, spiced with his own observations, which often seemed to miss the mark, and were completely irrelevant besides.

Descartin wondered privately why Troussier was even allowed to remain at his job, but his lesson, ironically, was one of the few that every member of the sibko looked forward to, for entertainment as much as education.

Questions were allowed, but must be submitted on a small piece of paper at the end of the lesson, where they would be answered at the start of the next lesson. The small pieces of paper, however, were often barely adequate for more than one question.

Still, Descartin was grateful, for it had served its purposes admirably without wasting too much time.

For four hours each day, they would sit in the stuffy classroom with poor ventilation, ignoring the sweat slowly accumulating on their bodies, the single slow moving fan overhead unable to wick away the moisture quickly enough. The high humidity of the weather did not help matters any.

The only thing that made it all bearable was Troussier. He would challenge their intelligence, force them to use parts of their brain that Des was sure had never been activated before, since it ached afterwards, and generally made them rethink much of everything they had learnt in previous years.

"Alas, soldiers do not take it well when they are forced out of their vocations, and forced to be common laborers, farmers, and merchants. But the Great Father had no choice. Without people to grow food, we would starve. Without laborers to produce machines, we would descend back to the Stone Age. Without merchants, we would not be able to have an infrastructure capable of catering to our needs."

"Here is a question for the whole class. What did the Founder of our clan, Phillip Drummond, do after he was demobilized?"

This one was easy. They all shouted as one, "Scientist!"

Troussier nodded. "He was one of those tested out, but he accepted his new role, refining Streak SRM technology, or more accurately," Troussier looked embarrassed, "tried to."

"They did not succeed, though I must add that the basis of their work later did contribute to the advancement of Streak technology developed by other clans. But that was definitely not his greatest nor his last contribution to the dream of the Kerenskys."

"He formed a family unit with our _other_ Founder, Anna Rosse. Aff, she was a mere merchant, she was not a warrior, nor was she warrior trained. But to her we owe many of our customs and rituals, as well as the path of visions."

Troussier glanced at his watch. "Ah, time is up." He ignored the looks of disappointment on their faces. "Now you young aspiring warriors report to Training Officer Secorra as usual for weapons drill. Shoo!" He started shoving cadets out of the classroom, while collecting the small slips of paper from them at the same time.

Barely minutes later, Descartin was dissembling a projectile rifle and assembling them from scratch, under Secorra's watchful eye.

Varro had been less than happy with Secorra's performance during their 'introduction' to the cadets, but the warrior had nevertheless proven his worth over the last few months, being an expert on firearms, despite being an average hand to hand combatant.

Secorra's perpetual cursing and swearing did not mark him out as an elite gunner at first, but their first day on the range, when he aced the course in a demonstration, changed their minds in a hurry.

It was difficult, however, as he insisted on total familiarity with any weapon before they were allowed to use it. They had to be able to strip weapons in complete darkness, recite all the range and specifications, and generally everything there was to know about the guns.

And on the range, Secorra had seemed especially concerned about safety, urging every cadet to take extra precaution before firing. Rumor in the sibko was that many cadets died once in a live fire exercise involving a machine gun under his watch. Even though Secorra was absolved of all responsibility(the dead cadets were trying to show off), it probably made him sit up and take extra notice of safety procedures. The death of cadets in silly accidents was wasteful, and the clans above all abhor waste.

Sliding home the bolt carrier group, Des slapped close the rifle casing, pulling the loading lever several times to ensure smooth operation, before pulling the trigger to clear the gun and shouting "Weapon ready!"

All around him were the clicking sounds of triggers being pulled, as his fellows completed their tasks. Descartin, as usual, was first, though he was only a second faster than Deserk, who came in second.

"Looks like you are slipping up, Cadet Des. Cadet Dee is getting better and faster." Des' only response to Secorra was a noncommittal grunt.

Everybody had taken to calling him by the first syllable of his name, because 'Descartin' was simply a mouthful. Likewise, Deserk was now called 'Dee', because his real name sounded too much like 'desert'. Not exactly the sort of name to strike fear into an enemy.

Secorra was the one who had made that remark on his progress, along with a nasty smile on his face. He had never really forgiven Des for beating him in their first fight, but he also knew not to go too far in case Des, who was getting bigger and stronger all the time, should lose his patience and decide to kill him just for the sake of getting another instructor to pound on.

In fact, all of the cadets were growing very quickly, a stage of development described as a 'growth spurt' by Jazelyn. Troussier had once estimated that their full height would be about 190 centimeters, due partly to proper nutrition, and also partly due to the recessive but expressed elemental genes in their Winters bloodline.

Their height was not the only similarity that they share. Most of them had light colored hair, and piercing green eyes. The hair color was said to come from their genemother, and their eyes and facial features from their genefather, according to observations from Varro Drummond. They have never seen their geneparents themselves.

And the cadets never will, because they were both dead. Even if they were not, clan tradition dictates that there should be no contact between sibko cadets and their geneparents, citing inefficiency in training and other psychological reasons.

Des did not really care if that was true or not. If the clan said it was true, then it must be. There could be no other alternative, and there was no reason for them to lie about such trivial matters.

"Now that you have shown that you can strip and assemble these weapons in broad daylight, the next step would be to do that in total darkness."  Secorra's hand flipped a switch on the wall, and the room plunged into darkness.

Des quickly ran through all the steps again, mentally preparing the locations of each and every component as they were taken out, placed, and a short while later taken up again to be refitted.

"As before, cubs. Two minutes. Ready, go!"

Click, clack, clock.

03rd January 3043 

"And so Phillip Drummond and Anna Rosse, disillusioned with the loss of their children, embittered by the madness that had overtaken the colony, sought refuge with the Great Founder Nicholas Kerensky, who had established his base on Strana Mechty."

"Phillip Drummond tested out well enough to be a warrior in the Great Founder's new order, and was assigned to Clan Nova Cat," Troussier swelled with pride, "_our_ clan."

"Anna Rosse became a merchant, and stayed close to Phillip Drummond even though Nicholas Kerensky had begun caste separation. She took care of their only surviving child Sandra, who would be one of our most important Khans."

"Here is a question, what rank did Phillip Drummond achieve in the clan?" Troussier asked Lintya.

"He became Khan." The girl answered confidently.

"Quite so." Troussier continued. "For someone who was once in Amaris the Usurper's service, this was a very high honor. What did the great Kerensky hope to show by allowing a former Rim Worlds Republic officer to be Khan?" Troussier asked Feelia, a girl who was notable for the fact that she was the tallest in their sibko, leading some to wonder if she should have gone for elemental training instead.

As for Troussier's question, nobody knew the answer, but  they could always guess.

"The Great Founder did not know about his past?" She answered tentatively.

"Wrong." Troussier replied in irritation. "There are clear service records of every single person who went to Strana Mechty. How could they miss that detail? No, Nicholas Kerensky wanted to show that a person's past did not really matter, that skill and ability are all that a warrior needs to prove his worth in the clans."

"Notable members of the clan in the very beginning were Gabriel Devalis, Takaria West, Eliza Lenardon, and John Winters."

"Devalis was a rare Land-Air Mech pilot, equally versed in mech and aerospace combat. Due to Kerensky's new dictates, Devalis devoted himself solely to battlemech operation, although later on his bloodname became a general bloodname, with aerospace pilot, mechwarrior, and elemental lines."

"Takaria West was an exceptional infantry combatant from Terra, her skills honed in the guerilla war on Terra, particularly the fighting in Italy and Greece. Incidentally, she knew Anna Rosse well, being in the same resistance cell as several points. In fact, it was Anna Rosse who advised Phillip to delegate infantry command to Takaria West. From her would come the elementals of the West." Troussier snickered at his impromptu joke, which Des felt was particularly flat, since it was not amusing in the least

"Eliza Lenardon was a mechwarrior veteran of the Hegemony campaigns, initially a volunteer from the Federated Suns. She was famed for her ability to place laser blasts wherever she wanted. It was her who instituted our fondness for direct fire weapons, destroying our enemies quickly by targeting the weakest points on their armor."

"John Winters, who was the progenitor of your line, was an infantry soldier from the Free Worlds League, later moving onto battlemech operation when he tested out well enough."

"With these warriors in the lead, and of course Phillip Drummond himself, our clan easily reclaimed Circe in Operation Klondike. In fact, they were so successful that the other clans grew envious of our warriors' ability to place their shots to best effect."

"Nicholas Kerensky did not assign himself to any clan, however. He announced that he would join only the clan which had performed best in the campaigns. Obviously, competition was fierce."

"Our clan placed well, but not enough to unseat Clan Jade Falcon and Clan Wolf. Clan Wolf won in the end, and the Jade Falcons have been somewhat… envious of the Wolves ever since."

"Oh," Troussier said, "And time is up. There is a change in the schedule today, because Officer Secorra is down with the flu. You will be having extra hand to hand training with Officer Jazelyn in Training Shed C."

Ten minutes later, they were engaged in hand to hand training, supervised by Jazelyn.

Jazelyn was not like any clan warrior they had heard of. Most clan warriors are aggressive sorts, constantly craving sex and action to satiate themselves.

Training officers were no different, often beating up cadets for the slightest mistake and berating them constantly for no apparent reason. Secorra fell firmly into this category.

In addition, Des had heard plenty of stories about Training Officers forcing cadets to couple with them, especially in the more aggressive clans like the Jade Falcons and the Smoke Jaguars.

Jazelyn, on the other hand, was very different. She did not shout at them, she did not use threats, implied or otherwise, to spur them on. The only sign of her displeasure whenever they had performed below standards was a slight tightening of her brown eyes, and a look of disappointment on her slender face.

Strangely enough, that often made them feel bad inside, even more than any of Secorra's raging insults.

And she did not force the male cadets to have sex with her, though that might be due to other reasons. The scuttlebutt among the sibkos in the training camp was that she and Varro Drummond were practically sharing the same room every night, and some freebirth cadet from a neighboring cadet squad had even remarked that they might as well be married for all the time they spend together.

Des felt like throwing up whenever he heard of 'marriage' and its associated words. The idea of two people coming together to conceive children was simply… disgusting, not to mention the actual birthing process itself.

He could not explain it. It was just too ingrained in him, something that was instilled into every child of the iron wombs since their emergence from the birthing chambers.

Trueborn and freeborn. One the controlled product of scientists and technology, the other a random mix of one of nature's oldest processes. Trueborns are exalted, while freeborns are reviled. It was the way things were, the way things are, and the way things will be.

Des hurriedly brought his attention back to his hand movements hitting on the practice dummy before Jazelyn could notice his wavering attention. He cursed himself silently for letting his mind wander during training. He really wanted to make it to the next stage of mechwarrior training, and he did not want to slip up in the least.

He wanted to write his own legend. The Remembrance had inspired him in the beginning, with its accounts of brave warriors succeeding against impossible odds. From an early age, he had told himself, "My name will be in the Remembrance one day, tales of my glorious deeds told to all to hear."

And the only way into the Remembrance was to be a warrior.

13th February 3043 

"Here is an interesting question from Cadet Descartin about our breeding program. He asked, quite reasonably, why did we not simply produce clones of successful warriors from their genetic material? This ties in quite well with the question that Cadet Petra asked, why were so many from your sibko weeded out even before coming here?"

Troussier ran a hand over his hair, organizing his thoughts for a moment, then continuing, "Sometimes, nature truly knows best. Evolution is only possible if there was some form of mutation, some sort of change, from generation to generation. Or else, nothing would ever improve, nothing would even change. How can we even predict future improvements, even to our own species?"

"Aff, if we started mass cloning of warriors who are proven winners, we can guarantee ourselves a steady pool of warriors of a certain base standard. At the same time, our gene pool will also hardly improve, because we have removed the randomness factor completely. Trust me, even the process by which you came about was random to some extent, which accounts for your differing abilities. Some of you are better shooters, some better runners. Why? Do not answer, this is a rhetorical question."

"Genes can mix and match with each other during certain stages. Transposing, the scientists call it. In effect, it is a roll of the dice." Troussier produced two six sided dice from a pocket, placing the dice on the table in front of him.

"Cadet Jovre, you are quite good at mathematics. So tell me, what are the chances of these dice getting a result of two when I roll them?"

Jovre, a muscular looking boy, answered, "One in thirty six."

"And a result of twelve?"

"Also one in thirty six." The reply came immediately. Jovre was the best at abstract thinking, and that was one of the few things that Des was not the best in the sibko at. But only Jovre was better than him, which was some consolation.

"And so it is. There is a chance of abysmal failure, represented by the result of two, in the sense that the trueborn in question is so utterly stupid, slow, or weak that he is weeded out almost at the very beginning. Then there is also the chance for spectacular success, the result of twelve. And cadets, what the clan wants are the results of twelve."

"But they are very rare. In effect, the clan accepts as warriors those with results eleven and twelve, so to speak. Which most of you are. Sevens, the mode of the rolls, are not accepted, even if they are theoretically on par with the potential of the original genetic material, in other words, the geneparents."

"Here is something which most people do not know. Ever since the genetic breeding program started, the tests _have_ been getting more difficult. Scores which are acceptable ten years ago are laughable today. You surpass your forebears in ways that many of them could not even imagine!"

"And so generation after generation, our warriors would improve. In time, when we return to the Inner Sphere to reform the Star League, our warriors would be far better than anything the barbarians can throw up!"

20th February 3043 

It was another lesson on the history of their clan, the Nova Cats.

"Sandra Rosse offered her aging father the opportunity to step down voluntarily from his Khanship. Unwilling to fight his own daughter, and knowing that her claims had merit, Phillip Drummond bowed to his daughter, stepped out of the Circle of Equals, and for the second time in his life, walked away from everything he knew."

"Upon claiming the Khanship, Sandra revealed that the plan for replacing Phillip Drummond came to her through a vision quest. Many were skeptical at first, but she eventually managed to convince them to accept her changes, which she felt was the way to a more perfect society."

"She led the way for the clan to take a longer view of events, that every action has consequences that would not appear for centuries. She encouraged people from all castes not to view their lives as unchanging routine, physical training and privileges denied, but rather to explore the spiritual and mystical aspects of their existence, enabling them to focus better on their tasks."

"When you reach a certain age, your instructors will lead you in your first vision rite. Then you shall also discover the way to focus yourselves and bring greater glory to the clan."

_Greater glory? Right._ Des thought to himself. The importance of visions had been stressed from the start, and even dreams were sometimes analyzed for any portents of importance. There was a fable about how a particularly cadet was so good at predicting the future that his dreams of glory in battle were dashed when the clan decided to reassign him as a tech instead to preserve his vision ability.

Hopefully, it was only a fable.

But there was that one time…

It was just a dream he had at night, when they had just arrived at the training center. He had dreamed of a nova cat stalking its prey in a grassland, only to be caught within a trap that caught its foot.

The very next day, they were having an obstacle exercise in an area that had borne remarkable similarity to the one in his dream. It was even more incredible for they had never been to the area before. Des found himself especially alert that day, due to his dream, and managed to evade all the caltrops that were scattered over the area, even though the savasrhi trainers had 'neglected' to tell the cadets of the extra dangers.

The others were not so lucky, and many had suffered injury to their legs. Des kept quiet about his dream, though he knew many of his fellow sibkin were more than a bit miffed at his coming through unscathed, and assumed that he had been warned beforehand, which was definitely not true.

It had taken a few weeks of covering for them in crucial tests to get back on their good sides. However, he was more than a bit worried, and mystified. Before that incident, he had always taken the clan's constant preoccupation with visions and dreams to be mere fantasizing, with no basis in fact.

His opinion had changed a bit, but Des was still leery. Not even the scientists had ever proven as fact the use of visions and dreams, and that did not seem to change in the future. He had no wish to announce his abilities based on one single event, and set himself up for disappointment in the future.

No, being a warrior would be good enough, and an honorable way to gain glory. After all, who cared about a bunch of stupid visions?

When they are proven wrong, people turn on the supposed soothsayer. When they turn out correct, people could always claim they knew it all along. Nothing beats hindsight for accuracy.

_Another two years_, Des told himself_. Another two years to getting to my first mech cockpit…_

Okay, okay, I hereby apologize to those who are already well acquainted with the history of the Nova Cats, but I had to find some way to put in the history of the clans. Wait till I get to mechs. ;)

In the end, I found myself channeling myself into Troussier, and lo and behold, another chapter, with some short training snippets from Des' viewpoint.

It wasn't easy, however, and I almost bored myself to death by poring over material from at least five Battletech products. Some paragraphs and phrases were copied verbatim from the sourcebooks, while others were from my own reading and 'research'. Got a problem with that? Sue me. :p

The part about genes that shift from chromosome site to chromosome site is not made up. Yes, it contradicts a great deal of classical mendelian genetics, but the process has been proven to exist beyond any doubt, and the Nobel Prize awarded to the discoverer sometime in the 80s.

Poor Thurston surely didn't keep up with _his_ reading, because his stupid Jade Falcons are still scratching their heads over why negative traits were still exhibited even though they had tried their best to weed them out(ref. Way Of The Clans). Genes don't work that way. :D

Anyway, the part about dice and ability is an extremely simplified allegory(or is it metaphor? Damn) for the eugenics program. However, as a friend of mine once pointed out, traits that did not exhibit themselves in one generation might arise in another, and the genes themselves don't exactly code for traits. What they code for are the proteins that make up our bodies, and the various protein compositions are what differentiates abilities from one person to the next.

This is the basis behind the reason why sibkos can have a 100% failure rate, and why the progeny of elite warriors are sometimes decidedly ordinary.

It also brings in the question of breeding in a larger gene pool, and the possibility of even better warriors in a 'free' environment due to a larger population. The chances for a triple 12-in-a-row, the Kai Allard-Liaos, so to speak. The clan scientists have never had a chance to see how the eugenics program stacks up against such freeborn warriors.

They will find out.

Enough with the ranting. I'll get on with the next chapter. Some action for once! But it'll have to posted in mid-July, if I'm lucky and inspired. I'm going off on a trekking trip overseas for three weeks in a few days time, so hang on there!

BTW, I will be skipping the training details. After all, who wants to read an entire book of clan training, after all, we already have "Way Of The Clans"!


	3. Hidden Aces

Ways Of Seeing Training Facility, Barcella, Kerensky Cluster, 16th March 3045 

"This is great!" Deserk yelled exuberantly as he swung the torso of the mech around to target a slow moving dummy practice drone. Pressing down firmly on his trigger, Deserk was thrilled to see a brilliant laser beam flash out to disintegrate the drone.

Sure, the mech was unmovable, and it was not much of a mech, but it was the very first time they had the chance to actually sit in a mech cockpit. After years of staring at cutboard cutouts, scaled down mockups made of recycled plastic and metal, listening to Seccora and Jazelyn drone on about the basics of mech operation, they finally had the chance to show their mettle.

"Cadet Deserk, watch your 4 o'clock." The harsh voice of Secorra barked into his ear.

Deserk complied, and saw three more drones heading his way. He started to panic a bit, and missed with his laser. The drones came ever closer, as Deserk waited agonizingly or the laser to recharge.

Despite this being only a first mech run for the cadets, nothing in the clans was ever without risk. The drones were rigged with explosives, which were strong enough to destroy the training mech's legs, which were bereft of any armor, and were seemingly made only of tinfoil. They would detonate once they touched the mech, and were programmed with rudimentary evasive programs.

The mech itself was ancient, an old _Wasp_ that was left over from the Exodus. Nevertheless, it was still an awesome sight.

The pinnacle of human warfare, a mech stood more than 8 meters tall, a towering machine of myomer and alloy that could often level a city on its own using lasers, missiles, or autocannons.

_Except this pathetic Wasp_, Deserk griped as he managed to connect with one shot. One drone became an orange ball of fire that engulfed one of its companions, leaving just one last drone to threaten Deserk. However, it was getting very close.

Deserk had no doubts that failure here could very possibly mean the end of his life as a mechwarrior cadet. Ever since their arrival at the training facility, two sibkin had washed out of training, while another two were killed in live-fire exercises.

He had no desire to be the fifth.

Not for the first time, he wished he had Descartin's coolness under fire. Des had already wiped out every one of his target drones, and had a hundred percent shooting accuracy. The same could not be said for himself.

Sweat dripped into his eyes from his brow. Deserk used his left arm to wipe off the sweat, cursing the lack of a helmet along with its forehead padding that would have soaked up the sweat. He was able to control the targeting stick with his right hand though, guiding the cursor slowly before the oncoming drone.

Certain that he had a lock, Deserk shot, and was gratified by a satisfying golden blaze. The mech rocked a bit from the force of the drone's death throes, and Deserk realized just how close he was to having the _Wasp_ blown out from under him.

"That is enough, Cadet! The exercise is over! You can exit the mech now!" Secorra roared again over the cockpit's speakers.

As Deserk jumped down from his mech to join his sibko on the training ground, he could see differing expressions on their faces. As usual, Descartin was his confident self, his oft-practiced air of indifference and arrogance a well-worn cloak around him. And no wonder, for he had performed the best among them all.

Petra and Lintya, who could pass for identical twins, stood silently at attention, but their faces were still flushed from the thrill of being in a mech for the first time. Deserk could not detect any sign of disappointment on their faces.

Feelia looked fearful, for she had let a drone get too close to her mech, and the explosion had almost destroyed it. She was not hurt, a testament to the toughness of mechs. Deserk wanted to console her, but it would be a sign of weakness.

And weakness of any sort is abhorred in the clans.

Jovre, Ori, and Nioco were much like Petra and Lintya, excited at their chance to finally pilot real mechs, and eager to hear what their instructors had to say about their performance.

"You are all pathetic." Secorra snarled. Deserk was surprised, and as he looked around, he realized he was not the only one. Almost everyone looked as if they had their faces splashed with icy cold water.

Except for Des, who had a feral light in his eyes as he listened to Secorra's tirade. Deserk hoped Des would not do something foolish, like killing Secorra out of hand.

"You almost failed in this test, all of you, and if we had sent just two more drones after your mechs, all of you might have been dead! I expect better, and you all _will_ deliver the next go round, or I will toss your carcasses into the forest for the nova cats to eat!" Secorra stalked away as he finished his debrief.

Jazelyn stepped out in front as Secorra left. "Cadet Feelia, can you tell me what went wrong for you?" Her tone was almost casual, her face expressionless.

Feelia replied out loud, "I was not fast enough!"

"Aff. Quite right. At least you are honest to yourself. I know you are afraid of being drummed out the program, but we believe in giving chances, even to those who barely deserve it. Foul up one more time, and you will be reassigned. Am I perfectly clear?"

"AFF!" The waves of relief coming off Feelia were almost palpable.

"That is all for the day. You are free to rest, but we have an inspection by the Star Colonel at 0500 hours tomorrow morning, and I expect everything to be in perfect condition, down to the folds on your uniforms. Dismissed!"

As the cadets dutifully trooped away, Des shifted closer to Deserk.

"So how did you do?" Des asked.

Deserk sighed. "I almost blew it. The last drone got very close to my mech before I was able to destroy it. If I had been a second slower, I might be the one in Feelia's position."

Descartin nodded. "I understand. But you passed this one, and that is all that matters. Tomorrow is a new day, and another chance to impress."

"Like what you do all day long?" Deserk grinned. "I suppose the rest of us should be glad you are not taking every opportunity to insult us or put us down for our deficiencies."

"Why should I do that? I prefer to get along on my own merits." Des paused. "Besides, what good does it really do to me? This is not really a competition. If we measure up, we will be warriors. It is not a matter of only the best cadet being a warrior."

"And last of all, maybe I need you to keep me on my toes." Des smiled wickedly.

They reached their barracks, the others already ahead of them, fighting for room in the two sonic showers stalls. They headed for their bunk, where they started ironing their uniforms on the table in the center of the room. Ironing boards were considered to be a waste of resources.

"So how did you feel the first time in a mech?" Deserk asked as he plugged in the power cord for the iron into a wall socket. He supposed they should be glad the clan did not force them to use archaic irons with hot coals inside.

"Powerful. In control. It was as if there was nothing in the world that could stop me." Des repositioned his uniform as he started work.

"Except another mech."

Des scowled. "Of course. And the feeling did not last long anyway, once those stravag drones started attacking. It was then I realized that the mechs they let us use were utter wrecks."

"Well, you could hardly expect them to let mere cadets use omnimechs for training."

They fell silent at the mention of the word 'omnimechs'. The ultimate in modern warfare, omnimechs were even more powerful than ordinary battlemechs. Often equipped with cutting edge technology, they could customize their weapons loadout for every battle, giving their pilots an incredible advantage over ordinary mechs.

To pilot an omnimech on the front lines of battle was the dream of every mechwarrior cadet. There fame, honor, and glory could be achieved. On the battlefield, they could gain immortality.

But they had to become warriors first.

And that was no sure thing.

They ironed their clothes in silence, their hands moving according to familiar routines while their minds dreamt of glory to come.

"So how did our cadets do today?" Varro Drummond asked Jazelyn, who was sipping a cup of water in his room. "Their first day in a mech, even those decrepit hulks, quiaff?"

"Aff. It took most of them a while before they realized that even in a mech, they are not invincible." She smiled. "Except for Cadet Descartin. He reacted as if he had been a mechwarrior all his life."

She continued. "You should have seen it. He destroyed all of his drones in record time, and was even able to time some of his shots in such a way that the explosion from the destruction of one drone would take out another. Some of the others managed it as well, but more by happenstance than by deliberate skill." She shook her head in disbelief.

"Your verdict?"

"He is either the best mechwarrior since the Kerenskys, or the luckiest cadet alive. Somehow, I do not think it is the latter."

"Then we will have to push him harder. I do not want him to rest on his laurels."

"Definitely." She hesitated before speaking again, as if afraid of raising the issue. "Do you think he is the one…"

He nodded. "That is a distinct possibility. But the strange thing about vision quests is that some of them are fulfilled only after a very long time. And warrior ability alone does not mean anything."

"And if he is the one?"

"Be careful, Jazelyn. Even the Oathmaster was unable to decipher the vision. We do not even know its meaning, so how can we even be sure of its fulfillment? No, let us wait and see."

A tinge of anger entered Jazelyn's voice. "Wait and see? How much longer must we wait? You gave up your chance at Galaxy Command for a vision quest, that might be nothing more than a wild dream!"

Varro tried to calm her down. "Jazelyn, listen to me…"

"No, I followed you, gave up my place on the battlefield. My chance at a bloodname too, remember that? All gone now, just because of a vision you had!"

"You had the same vision too." Varro replied quietly. "Yes, my ending was a bit different, but for all intents and purposes, what we saw were two possible endings for the same path. The salvation of humanity, or its utter doom."

"The end of humanity?" She barked out a harsh laugh. "The broadsword carving through the Inner Sphere could be anything! _And we are not even there yet_!"

"We could be in a few years. The Crusaders are agitating for a invasion, momentum is shifting towards our return to the Inner Sphere to restore the Star League, and it seems the verdict is sooner than later." His eyes took on a fervent glow as he thought about the restoration of the Star League, the hope and promise for all humanity.

"And if we do start our return, I do not want to stuck here." Jazelyn said. "Back into the action, that is where we truly belong."

Varro nodded in agreement. "I feel the same way, yet we must sometimes sacrifice our personal happiness for the good of the clan. It was Oathmaster Biccon Winters who gave us this sacred duty of finding the nova cat who would be the one to break the broadsword."

"Or fall under its blow." She countered.

"Not if we do our job well. Preparing these warriors as best as we can also serves our clan. Unlike many other training centers manned by disgruntled and aging warriors, we are relatively better motivated, which translates into better scores. This batch of cadets has had some of the best scores for the past several breeding cycles. And I do not think that is a fluke genetic boon."

"That hardly matters to us. You are trying to justify to yourself the reasons for staying here."

"Maybe. But we have been given our tasks by the clan, and no matter what we feel about them, we must strive to fulfill them."

He added, "If you really feel that you cannot stay here, then I can make the arrangements for you to transfer to a combat unit."

Varro sighed, "But I would wish you to consider carefully."

She held up her hand in denial. "I am not asking for a transfer. I just want to be sure that we are doing, well, something significant here."

"We are. We just have to hope in our quest, that it is not an empty one."

"Des?" A voice shook him out of his sleep.

"What?" Des replied drowsily, with a bit of irritation in his voice as well. "Feelia, is it? Can it wait until morning?"

A hand clamped over his mouth. "Shhh! Keep quiet! Do not wake the others up!"

His curiosity piqued, Des sat up on his bed. He stared at Feelia at a while before she pulled back her hand. "Okay, so what is the problem?"

"I need to know how you were able to kill all the drones so easily today."

"You could have asked me after the exercise."

"Not with everyone glancing over my shoulder. I do not need snide comments and insults coming my way from Ori." Her shoulders slumped. "I am going for another run tomorrow, and I have to pass it, or else I am out. I really need your help."

Des thought to himself, _what is the harm in telling her anyway?_ He nodded mentally.

"All right, I will help you. Now listen very carefully. I saw what happened today. I think you took too much time making sure of your shot. While that confirms a kill, sometimes speed is more important than accuracy, especially when you are facing multiple foes, all coming at you. Be confident in your targeting, and fire once you get even a partial lock. You do not even need to be one hundred percent accurate when shooting at a clump of drones. Even if you missed, it would probably hit one of the other drones near it." Des shrugged. "Luck also plays a small part, but I guess until somebody figures out a way to challenge Lady Luck to a Trial of Position, she would always be capricious in her choices."

"Lady Luck? Who is that? I do not understand you sometimes."

"Never mind." Des hurriedly waved off the comment. He did not need anyone finding out about the small store of holodisks he had found one day in a salvage dump after an exercise.

He had managed to fix up an old hand projector to run the disks, and it had remained a secret source of entertainment and information to him. He ran the old holovids whenever he was alone in a hidden corner of the facility, and he was constantly on the lookout for more disks to add to his collection.

"What matters is that you _must_ be constantly aware of what is going on around you. How many drones are left, the amount of time for your laser to discharge, the distance between you and the drones. These are the three basic factors for the run, and for practically every other mech run, I suspect."

"So why did they not teach us these? And how did you know such stuff anyway?"

_I learnt them from old military training holovids, but that would take more explanation than I am willing to give right now._ Des yawned.

"Look, it does not matter if they did not tell us. It does not even matter how I know about these things. It is very late, and we have a long day ahead of us. As long as you know, and I know, that should be good enough."

"You are a strange person, Des. The others, save perhaps for Deserk and Lintya, would not have lifted a finger to help. You act all aloof and cold, but when it comes to somebody in need of help, you are often the first one to offer a hand. So what are you up to?"

Des tried to look innocent. "Why does everybody assume that I have some ulterior motive in mind?"

"Because you seem almost too good to be true." Feelia left this final rejoinder as she went back to her own bed. Too far away to protest, Des could only grumble to himself.

"Too good to be true, eh?" A voice from his left whispered.

"Deserk, you are supposed to be asleep."

"How can I keep my eyes shut with the two of you talking away? I should have known you were holding out on us. How many more pieces of information do you have that can help us?"

"How would I know? What I told Feelia was what I had come to realize during the run itself."

"Are you sure the holovids had nothing to do with it?"

Des could swear he could hear Deserk's smile, even if he could not see it. There was a long pause.

"How did you know?"

"You do not really expect to sneak off and not have anyone come across you at times, quiaff? I do not know if the others are aware, but since there is gain in the information from the holovids, I expect you to tell us next time if there is anything in them that could help us. For the good of the sibko, quiaff?"

"Aff, for the good of the sibko. But if you tell anyone else of this, I will beat you so bad you will not walk for a month. We are not supposed to have such material."

"Aff, my lips are sealed. After all, it is to everybody's gain."

Just wonderful. Oh well, there is no real honor in being better because of a hidden advantage anyway. No, I will prove myself to be the best on level terms.

As he went back to sleep, Des kept telling himself that.

Finally, chapter 3 is up! I really have to apologize for making you guys wait so long, but I was really hung up after my trip, and the start of the school term. My recent addiction to Warcraft 3 did not help matters any. (I'm Ecator on the Kalimdor area) :)

Good news is, I'm relatively freer for this semester than for the previous years, so I will be devoting more time to writing(I hope). I'm telling myself to write an average of 400 words every day, so that should be about a chapter per week.

I also have a few projects that I'm working on, that might be of interest, namely a whole new TRO for my new timeline in New World Order series. Yes, I am taking it on an alternate universe, but I plan to have it in such a way that almost everything could be traced back to the actions of three individuals, the things they did that made events NOT go the way of Dorkage.

And BTW, check out Project Phoenix on the CBT site!! I fully support the return of the Unseen!!

PS. Since we can see them now, are they still the _Unseen_? :P


	4. Fixed Odds

Ways Of Seeing Training Facility, Barcella, Kerensky Cluster, 04th December 3045 

"Left arm armor damage 80%." The computer droned as Des desperately swerved his _Mercury_ to the right in a futile attempt to avoid the storm of missiles coming from a _Wyvern_.

The arm damage had been caused by a laser blast from the same opponent, which Des was sure had Secorra at the controls.

_Recon nav pint beta, pick up the metal package, get out, and the test is over. Yeah right. Freebirth!_ Des cursed silently.

It was supposed to be a simple test. Instead Des found himself fighting for his life against a mech more than twice the mass of his 20 ton _Mercury_, and with a fully trained warrior at its controls.

The weapons were all operating at lower levels, but the shuddering of the mech from missile hits attested to the ferocity of the test, and the cracked cockpit plexiglass on one panel from a laser hit showed that even powered down weapons could be lethal. There was no better way to drive home the fact that this was no simulation.

As far as Des could make out, he had only one slight advantage, and that was the speed of the _Mercury_. _Wyverns_ were city fighting machines, with a slow top speed and jump jets, but packing a lot of serious firepower.

Firepower that was sent his way time and again.

The location of the battle was not good for him as well. A narrow rocky pass with steep slopes on either side limited the utility of his speed, and forcing him to charge at the _Wyvern_ in an attempt to get to the nav point.

He had approached the narrow pass when the _Wyvern _had suddenly powered up without warning. Retreat had not really been an option, and even though there were other ways to get to the nav point, it would have been relatively easy for the _Wyvern _to cut him off an every approach.

So Des decided to bite the bullet, and attempt to get the package while his armor was still fresh.

The _Wyvern _was perfectly content to stand and shoot at the oncoming _Mercury_, using its fearsome array of LRMs, SRMs, and lasers to pummel Des' mech.

Des returned fire with his own lasers, and the sight of melted armor plating on the _Wyvern_ was heartening. It still had more than armor to spare though, and the worst part of it was that the other pilot knew it too.

_Goal is to get the package, not to defeat this monster!_ Des reminded himself. It was impossible anyway for him to beat the _Wyvern_.

Des grimaced as another piece of the battered _Mercury_ was torn off, while a series of missile near-misses buffeted the light mech, forcing him to concentrate on keeping the mech upright as he finally saw a chance to slip past the _Wyvern_.

The enemy pilot had been too eager to shoot at his _Mercury_, only twisting his torso around but not actually moving the _Wyvern_ in order to get a better shot. Des had managed to move his mech such that when he finally unleashed the power of the Myomer Acceleration Signal Circuitry, he would be in a position to get to the nav point _and_ threaten the _Wyvern_'s rear.

Des thumbed a switch, and there was a deep throbbing emanating from under him as the myomer muscles went into an excited state, contracting and expanding much quicker than normal myomer, thus enabling the _Mercury_ to reach incredible speeds.

The mech was already moving around at top speed when the MASC engaged, and it almost seemed as if a rocket pack was strapped to its back as it suddenly shot forward, whipping around in a tight arc to run around the _Wyvern_.

The _Wyvern_, momentarily thrown off by the sudden acceleration of the _Mercury_, could only trigger off a series of laser blasts which nipped at the heels of the fast moving mech, spraying up bits of dust and sand as the .

Des found himself sweating profusely as the _Mercury_ dashed past the _Wyvern_, even as he used the right arm laser of the mech to fire into the _Wyvern_'s rear.

The Wyvern slowly turned around to deal with Des, but he had already sprinted away for the safety of distance. In fact, Des estimated that there was more armor on the _Mercury_'s rear than its front!

The _Wyvern_ fired its long range missiles and its large laser at the _Mercury_, but Des managed to avoid the shots, running a zigzag pattern to confuse his opponent while keeping one eye on his rear view displays. The mech burst through the pass into a small bowl-shaped valley, surrounded by rock walls on all sides.

_Another three hundred meters_, he told himself. He could already see the package lying on the ground in the center of the valley, a large metal box, waiting for him to pick it up with the _Mercury_'s hands.

Except that his left hand actuator had already been shot off, and the other arm was hanging on by a few strands of myomer aided by a few grateful thoughts from Des.

Des concentrated hard as he leaned the _Mercury's _torso as far to the right as possible, trying to maintain the mech's balance while moving at faster than a hundred kilometers per hour. By inserting his hand into the close control interface glove, he extended the right arm of the mech down fully, and snagged the package as the _Mercury_ sprinted past.

The _Wyvern_ was in hot pursuit, but now that Des had managed to get the package, he had several other routes to use for his escape. There were at least three ways he could use to get out of the immediate area, not counting the pass where he had battled the _Wyvern_.

However, the thought of defeating the _Wyvern_ tugged at his mind. What glory he would achieve if he could defeat the mech!

A full missile and laser salvo drove such thoughts out of his mind with a vengeance as the _Wyvern _cut loose, not willing to let the impertinent upstart get away.

Des nearly panicked, and almost bungled his retreat as he almost lost hold of the package, the box almost blasted out of the mech's grip.

It was clear to him that defeating the opposing mech was not the objective of the test, even if it was one he could defeat. Getting away with the package was.

Des engaged the MASC system again, hoping that the myomers would not freeze up under such strenuous use. He could not see any other real alternative to getting away as fast as possible.

He turned into one particular pass away from the _Wyvern_, knowing that the _Wyvern_ would not be able to keep up on sheer ground speed alone.

A flare of golden light from above informed him of his mistake, as the _Wyvern_ descended on fiery jump jets right in front of him, flying over the steep walls and showing the advantages of having jump jets.

_Freebirth, I forgot the _Wyvern_ has jump jets!_ His mind screamed even as he calculated his chances of turning around and making a run for it again.

He came to only one conclusion. _Extremely poor._

There were a few final options he could take, none of which were appealing, but he was already desperate, and desperate men take wild chances.

Using the right arm of the _Mercury_, Des flung the metal box at the _Wyvern_. His aim was true.

The _Wyvern _seemed shocked as the package connected solidly with its head, even denting one side of the human-like face. It stood there for several long seconds as the _Mercury_ closed with all guns blazing, more to distract than to truly hurt. Then almost like a tree, the _Wyvern_ slowly toppled over onto its back in a tremendous crash. The ground shook violently as a massive dust cloud erupted from around the fallen mech.

Des did not waste any time thanking his good fortune. He grabbed up the box again, and ran back to base.

"I have seen some extremely stupid ideas in my time, _but this one beats them all_!" Varro Drummond roared loudly, half in laughter, and half in mortification at what his cadet had done.

A sheepish Descartin and a furious Secorra were gathered in Varro's office for the test debrief. By all standards, Des had passed the test, which would determine whether the cadet could move on to more advanced and powerful weapons like missiles, autocannons, and advanced electronics, as well as heavier and more advanced mechs.

Secorra was extremely angry, however, due to Des' highly questionable tactics. Varro thought the large purple bruise on Secorra's head also had a lot to do with his present anger. "He used physical combat! That is ground enough for disqualification!"

Varro remained calm in the face of his instructor's outburst. "I do not recall, Officer Secorra, any direct physical contact made by the _Mercury_ on your _Wyvern_. Therefore, cadet Descartin did not engage in physical combat, and thus the result stands, that he has qualified for the next round of training."

Varro took a glance at Des as he spoke, and he noted the blank expression on the cadet's face. _Good, he knows when to be silent._

"Is there anything else, Officer Secorra?"

The big man shook his head, seething to himself. "Neg." He hissed out the words.

"Then you are free to leave the office. I am going to have some words with the cadet."

Varro waited patiently for Secorra to leave, and the look on Secorra's face as he left the office was one of sheer fury at Descartin.

"Cadet Descartin, you have impressed many with your performance in the test." Indeed he had, for no other cadet had ever faced such odds. In all truth, Varro had assigned the opposing mechs himself, with the other cadets facing old _Valkyries_, _Panthers_, or other light mechs that were only slightly more powerful than the 20 tonners they were using.

Only Descartin had been pitted against a 45 ton _Wyvern _in confining terrain, almost insurmountable obstacles. Varro had not actually expected him to succeed in the test, and was willing to let the cadet through with just a good performance.

But Des had exceeded even his expectations, beating all the odds and returning with the package that was the objective.

The _Mercury _that returned was a walking wreck, with burnt myomer strands protruding from all over the shattered armor.

Appearances could be very deceiving. The techs had already confirmed that the mech would be back to full operational status in just ten hours, which had surprised Varro greatly. Apparently the damage was mostly skin deep, with no damage to the really critical parts like the engine shielding or the massive gyroscopes. Actuators were relatively easy to replace compared to the nightmare of a fusion engine leaking intense radiation.

"So what should I do with you now?" Varro asked the cadet standing stiffly at attention in front of his desk.

"The cadet believes he should return to his bunk for rest, sir!" Des shouted.

Varro hid a smile. It was apparent that the young warrior was exhausted, and tired enough to demand rest that was denied to him but not to the other cadets.

The entire sibko of eight cadets had all passed the test, an excellent record and a testament, Varro hoped, on the abilities of his staff.

He got back to the matter at hand. "I shall give you your rest, provided you could answer a few short questions. This won't take long, quiaff?"

"Aff!"

"What did you feel when the _Wyvern_ appeared? Be truthful."

"The cadet was shocked, sir!"

"Why?"

"The cadet thought there was no way past the situation!"

Varro smiled grimly. "And why did you use the box as a projectile? That was supposed to be the objective of this mission."

"The cadet was desperate, sir! And anything and everything can be a weapon!"

"In other words, you were also considering physical attacks, quiaff?"

There was no reply.

"Quiaff?" Varro asked again with an edge in his voice.

"Aff," Des replied softly.

"At least you did not actually carry one out. And even if you did, there are no written rules forbidding the use of physical attacks, except for a psychological taboo against them."

Des looked confused. "No written rules forbidding physical attacks?"

"Aff. It was strictly an unwritten taboo laid down by the Great Founder. However, he was also flexible enough to realize that some opponents might not follow these rules, so it was not cast in stone, so to speak. Using such tactics would result in a loss of honor in the eyes of the clans, but some warriors are willing to pay the price for success if it can bring them victory."

Understanding dawned in Descartin's eyes.

Varro continued, "When you get back to your bunk and meet up with the other cadets, you will find out that your test had not been entirely fair to you."

"The cadet wishes to know why, sir."

"Simple. The others faced only light mechs, equipped with few weapons, making it easier for them to get the package. You were the only one that faced a medium mech, one that was well suited to close in fighting in the hills."

Varro could see Des trying to hold his anger in check, his jaw muscles tense as he replied, "The cadet thinks it was not fair to him. What if he had failed to accomplish the mission?"

"You would have passed to the next stage of training anyway, just as long you had done as much as you could."

"Then why?"

"Because I wanted to see how well you would do in an impossible situation. If we had given you a standard test, I have no doubt you would have qualified easily."

Varro leaned over his desk to stare into Des eyes, "I wanted you to know that nothing in the clans is ever easy. From now on, you will be pushed harder and further than your sibkin. If you can measure up, you will be one of the best warriors in the clan. If you cannot, you will wash out. Are you willing to accept such a challenge?"

Des stared back defiantly. "Aff, I accept."

"Hey! He is back!" Deserk announced as a sweaty and drained Des tramped up the stairs.

The sound of clapping could be heard all the way to the parade ground as the sibko gathered around Des. A bubble of noise surrounded him on all sides.

"I saw the ROMs, you were great!"

"How did you ever think of using the box as a weapon?"

"That Secorra got what was coming to him!"

"Quiet!" Des suddenly shouted, exasperated at the amount of attention he was having. "I am practically dead on my feet, and do you all not have any other better things to do than to pester me?"

The sibko shrank back from his voice, all of them scrambling away to their own tasks.

"You know, they were just concerned, that is all." A nonchalant Deserk, seemingly unworried about Des' temper, leaned back against a nearby wall. "You were the last one out, and we all thought you did not make it after we learnt that you were facing Instructor Secorra who was using a _Wyvern_."

"No confidence in me, quiaff?"

Deserk nodded slowly. "Aff. You are good, but realistically speaking, it was not fair for you. What if you had failed?"

"I did not."

His friend persisted. "What if you had?"

Descartin sighed. "Commander Drummond said that as long as I had put up a good fight, I would still qualify for the next stage."

Deserk's ears perked up. "He really said that?"

"Aff."

"So that must mean that he wanted you to fail the test, but you ruined it all by succeeding anyway. So what happens next? You do know that one way or the other, we are all depending on you to lead us through the next few years, quiaff?"

"I go on. Commander Drummond intends to push me as hard as possible, so you all might get caught up as well. As for being the leader, why me?"

"Because you have not failed us yet, and those tips and hints of yours are coming in very handy."

Deserk paused, "Oh, and we all have been given a day off for rest. Lintya and the others plan on taking a shuttle to the city tomorrow morning, and Jazelyn had already granted us her permission. Want to come along?"

"Sure. We have not left this stravag place for a long time. A trip to the city might be interesting."

"It is settled then. I will go tell them."

Des slumped to the wall just outside the bunk, bone weary after the events of the day. Then he felt a strange prickling at the back of his neck, a sensation of danger.

He spun around to see Secorra facing him. The big man was a menacing sight, his fists clenched, an expression of rage on his face, his teeth pulled back in a snarl.

"Instructor Secorra, do you require anything?" Des's words were respectful, but his tone was not.

Secorra growled, "I have enough of being made to look like a fool by a barely grown whippet of a cadet! Tomorrow, we shall settle the score between us once and for all!"

"What are you talking about, _sir_?" Des asked mockingly.

"I know from Jazelyn that your sibko is going to the city tomorrow. I want you to be at Firm Street at 1100 hrs. You will be there, or I shall break one of your fellow sibkin, if not now, then in the future."

"Is this what it all comes down to? You just cannot get over your defeat, quiaff?" Des scoffed. "So be it. Bargained well and done. I am sick of seeing your stupid face. We need a new instructor who can finally teach us proper skills instead of insulting us all the time."

"You try to bid like a warrior, but you are not one yet. You _will_ pay!" Secorra said as he left.

Des went back to get his stuff, thinking all the time. _He wants to fight outside the training center because he knows that Varro would disapprove. I doubt Jazelyn would know either. Either way, I am committed. I had better wash up and rest. The fight is going to be important. I do not want to lose._

Because if he lost, he would probably be dead.

Now, I did say I would write 400 words a day, but this is getting a bit ridiculous… :0

I beg for more reviews!


	5. Interrupted Duel

Delphi City, Barcella, Kerensky Cluster, 05th December 3045 0815 hrs 

The hoverbus slid to a halt at the terminal, sending up small swirls of dust from under its undercarriage. The doors opened to allow its passengers to disembark onto a platform constructed to compensate for the higher height of the doors due to the air skirt below the bus.

Descartin eagerly left the bus with his sibkin, ready to enjoy a day outside the confines of the training camp. Such excursions were few and far between, and they had not left the training center since their arrival there. This was a rare opportunity.

Barcella's G6III sun shone brightly in the sky, pouring down waves of heat onto the inhabitants of its third planet. A few clouds flittered slowly across the blue horizon, showing no particular inclination to rain on that day, though some of Barcella's inhabitants would often wish for rain to wash away the dust of the day.

As Des descended the steps of the platform, laughing and joking with his fellow cadets, he tried to take note of the civilians around them. They seemed like completely different people from the warriors and techs he was used to at the training center, dressed in nondescript clothes as they rushed from one place to another to do their jobs.

The gravity of the planet tugged at his legs, but he easily ignored the 1.3G exerted by the planet, having grew up with it his entire life.

To a native of Terra, used to cooler weather and a lower gravity, Barcella would have seemed like hell. Right now to Des, however, it was heaven.

The group of cadets looked like a bunch of tourists, though the cadet markings on their brown jumpsuits, the military boots they wore, and their severe hair crew-cuts made their identities clear as warriors-in-training.

There were scattered groups of civilians walking along the wide city streets, lined by tall buildings. A gang of laborers roared out a song of toil even as they struggled to lift their heavy crates onto a nearby truck. Two well-dressed women, scientists, Des guessed from their white coats, wore frowns on their faces as they rushed to the terminal. A man of the aerospace pilot phenotype carried a briefcase in one hand as he ambled easily into a building.

Des noted all this and more.

"Let us look for something to eat," he suggested as they came to a stop in the city center, a large square dominated by the huge statue of a snarling nova cat facing an _Atlas_ mech.

Built just after the world was chosen by the clan to be its capital, the statue was a symbol of the clan's strength, a show of their refusal to quit despite the odds.

"Where are the places we can go?" Petra asked.

"Well," Jovre said as he flipped through a small battered notepad fished out from a pocket, "there are three 'more expensive' canteens just a few blocks away. We could go there, but the prices are quite high."

"We can afford it," Des commented. "After all, we have not been using any of our credits for the past few years."

The Inner Sphere system of work and pay did not exist in the clans. Individuals were given a certain amount of credit allowance for the purchase of essential items like food and clothing, which must be used within a stipulated period of three months before the allowance is reclaimed by the clan.

As warrior cadets, Des and his sibkin enjoyed slightly greater leeway. Even though they were not considered to be 'working', they were still given a small allowance, which was allowed to accumulate past three months.

The amount was small, only 10 Kerenskys per month. Yet after more than 3 years of training, the cadets realized they had a small fortune on their hands.

"I am sick of the ration bars in camp. I want to have some real food for once!" Feelia declared. The others nodded in agreement. The food in the training facility was a far cry from the food they had in the nursery and training crèche. Protein bars, a gray mush that tasted like cutboard, and water that looked as if it came from the sewage(it was brown in color) were not their ideas of what food, or even combat rations should be like.

"So if there are no objections, we will go to one of the better canteens." Des gestured to Jovre, "Lead the way."

"But what are we going to do after eating?" Deserk asked.

"We will come to that after food." Des replied. He had every intention of having everybody split up to do their own purchases, because that would also make it easier for him to get to his showdown with Secorra without anybody finding out about it.

Des did not quite understand why he was reluctant to let the others know of the impending fight, but it just seemed like the correct thing to do.

Or maybe he was just afraid of losing in front of the others, he admitted to himself.

They came to a well decorated establishment, with bright lamps and colorful designs painted on its walls, in stark contrast to the drab buildings beside it. There were two small statues of mechs placed on each side of the front entrance, both the menacing hunched-over shapes of the _Timber Wolf_ omnimech. The fragrant smell of food wafted through the door, beckoning people within.

Such places were rarities in clan space, and often served to cater to the higher members of clan society. Members of the lower castes could never afford the expensive food, and the limits placed on their spending meant that they could not save up for such treats either.

A well-dressed laborer in a simple white and black uniform greeted them as they entered the 'canteen'. "Good morning, young ones. May I have your credit chips?"

The clan system of payment did not consist of any physical notes or coins, but an electronic system that used an unique individual chip linked to a central system for accounting and record keeping purposes. The card would be inserted into a card reader, which would then require a fingerprint or retina scan for the transaction to be processed.

The only people with hard currency was the merchant caste, due to their work in inter-clan trading. Non-merchants in possession of hard currency were regarded by clan law as black-market racketeers, and often punished accordingly. Only warriors on special assignment could be granted exemption from this rule.

As they handed over their cards to the laborer, from which their purchases would be deducted from when they leave the store, another laborer showed up to direct them to their table.

"Wow, if this is what is in store for us when we become warriors, I will be sure to try my very best to be one!" Ori exclaimed in glee as the group sat down.

"Even if warriors are able to come here, do you think they will have the time to do so?" Deserk countered. "Warriors spend all their time training and fighting, not thinking of ways to fill their stomachs!"

"Then why are we here?" Ori shot back. "If you think that is what a warrior is about, how about you leave this place right now?" Deserk's face grew a bright red, and both cadets stood up as if to fight.

"Stop it!" Descartin ordered. "We are here to relax, not get at each other's throats. Now sit down, and stop making fools of yourself!"

The two squabbling cadets stared venomously at each other for a tense moment before sitting back down. The other cadets made sure the two sat as far apart as possible, also on Des's suggestion.

Des took up the one menu list on the table, but he was surprised to realize that he had no idea of the meaning of the words. "Uh, do any of you know what all these mean?" He asked as he passed the menu around the table.

"Sautéed chicken, broccoli in oyster sauce, clam chowder soup? I do not understand a single word that is written here!"

"Do you have a problem?" A stony faced laborer came up to their table.

"Uh," Des hesitated for a second, "we are new to this, and do not know what we should eat. Could you consider our credit limit, and perhaps suggest items that come out to a total of about 15 Kerenskys for each person?"

The man nodded with half-lidded eyes, and started to list out a series of dishes which none of them were able to comprehend. Meanwhile, an obscenely obese merchant sitting near their table rattled off a string of dishes for his order. Obviously, he had no problems with the names.

"Is this sufficient?" The laborer asked.

"Uh, yes. That will be all. Thank you." Des stammered.

_By the Founder, that was embarrassing._ Des had no illusions about their lack of knowledge, but their sheer ignorance about how things worked in a civilian canteen was absolutely unforgivable. He thought about getting Jazelyn to explain some simple facts of life to them.

That same self-disgust ended as soon as the first plates were placed in front of them. They could barely make out the meats and vegetables, but the taste and texture of the food was something that Des was sure would stay with him forever.

An hour later, the sibko trooped out of the canteen in a much, much better mood, along with a newfound appreciation of the simpler pleasures of life, namely food.

"What is next?" A beaming Lintya asked. Des guessed that the three large drumsticks of fried chicken she ate had something to do with her sunny disposition.

Well, he could hardly complain himself, since he had several large servings of baked potato sitting comfortably in his stomach.

Des stretched his arms, trying to work out some of the lethargic feeling that often came after a heavy meal. "We go where we want. After all, the bus back to the training center leaves at 1700 hrs. I expect everybody to be back by that time. But until then, the whole day is ours, to enjoy ourselves as we will. I do not expect another chance like this until our Trials of Position."

"So that is it? We split up and meet again later, quiaff?" Deserk asked.

"Aff. Except you, Deserk, you are with me." Des said as he pulled to one side, even as the other cadets trooped away happily.

"Huh? What?" A puzzled Dee complained. "The others get to do whatever they want, but not me?"

Des did not reply immediately, but continued pulling a protecting Deserk into a small alley. "Aff. Listen, I need your help, because I have some… other business to attend to. You are the only other person who knows about the holovids, so you are just about the only person I can ask to do this."

"Concerning the holovids?"

"I got the few I had from a junkyard, and since then I had tried to search out scrap heaps and rubbish dumps for more. But our time at the training center had dried up my access to such places, so this is a rare opportunity."

Deserk understood instantly, though it was clear he was not amused. "You want me to search those filthy, smelly dumps for more holovids?" His face was one of disgust.

"Aff. Sorry, but I really had no choice. I have something on in about, "Des glanced at his watch, "an hour's time. Consider this a favor, quiaff?" Des looked at his fellow sibkin with a hopeful smile. To Deserk, he looked like begging.

Deserk sighed heavily. "All right. I will do this for you. But," he glared at Des, "You owe me for this, and you owe me big."

"Definitely. I am a man of my word." Des started walking away, out into the street.

"But what are you doing that is so important?" Deserk shouted after him.

"I cannot tell you now. Maybe later. Good luck finding the holovids!" Descartin jogged off.

He hated leaving Deserk like that, but he had no choice. The nearest scrap heap was quote far away, and Des did not want to expend extra energy going there and then coming back to look for Firm Street.

Looking at a street map of the city, Descartin ascertained the location of the street. As luck would have it, it was only two blocks away, a small side street leading to another section of the city.

The streets slowly emptied of people as the early morning rush of people getting to their workplaces eased. Des saw several police troopers on patrol, handling their stun batons with authority and calm.

He paid them little attention. Des found a small bench near Firm Street, and sat down to wait, while wishing that he had not eaten so much for his breakfast. His stomach complained mightily at the sudden influx of rich food.

Des forced down his unease, hoping that it would subside after an hour. He did not anticipate fighting hand to hand in anything less than top form. He had seen how hard Secorra had been working out recently, trying to overcome his weakness in physical combat. Even though he had beaten the instructor in their first meeting, Descartin knew it was largely due to luck and surprise. There would be no such advantage in the duel this time.

Des loitered around the street for an hour, alternating between short walks to try to help his digestion, and sitting on the bench trying to relax. Despite his best efforts to remain calm, he got more and more agitated as the hour of the fight approached.

"Afraid, quiaff?" The harsh voice of Secorra suddenly grabbed his attention, even as Des instinctively pivoted on one leg, his hands rising up into a defensive stance to face his opponent.

Secorra stepped out into the dimly lit street, his bulky body casting a sinister shadow on to the ground. He wore a large black coat, which he promptly discarded onto a nearby crate.

Des did not like his situation, which was almost alike to the one where his _Mercury _faced Secorra's _Wyvern_. After a few years of growth, he was still slightly shorter than Secorra, and he had less muscle bulk. Even though he was faster, with the reflexes and speed of youth on his side, the narrow street would reduce that sort of advantage.

"Shall we begin?" Des snarled through his uncertainty, trying to hide his trepidation.

"Aff." Secorra rushed forward.

Des easily parried the first few blows, but Secorra kept up the pressure, throwing punch after heavy punch, with a few kicks here and there to avoid predictability. Des fell back slowly, blocking and dodging while trying to spot an opening for his own attack.

As an impatient Secorra mistimed one punch, Des saw his chance. Slipping under the meaty fist of his enemy, Des ducked his entire body down low, then rose quickly, head-butting Secorra under his chin with his legs providing the force. Blood flew from Secorra's mouth as he staggered back.

The instructor did not pull back his punch, however, using them to grab the back of Des' uniform and pulling him along. One knee drove into Des's stomach.

Des felt his entire breakfast leave his mouth into a half-digested puddle of brown goo on the floor even as he continued slugging away at Secorra's head. Opening up his right fist into a palm, he slammed the open palm up the front of Secorra's face, and breaking Secorra's nose in the process.

Secorra howled with pain, but dropped down to one knee and made a leg sweep, which Des barely avoided by jumping into the air. It was a mistake, as Secorra rose up quickly before he could land, ready to land a finishing blow.

Des twisted his body around in desperation, and managed to push off a nearby wall with his hands, just evading Secorra's heavy punch and tumbling to the ground in a painful landing, but still very much in the fight.

A grunt alerted Des to the next attack, as Secorra lowered a shoulder and charged straight towards him. Gathering his strength, Des managed to leap up and over the charging man, barely clearing Secorra's body by a few millimeters.

Both fighters turned to face each other again, this time covered in blood, sweat, and vomit. Their heaving shoulders indicated their exhaustion, taking in heavy breaths as they struggled to pull in more air for their lungs.

"Come on!" Des shouted as he went on the attack this time, snaking a fist upwards in a feint towards Secorra. Secorra refused to fall for it, moving forward with his body held low. Des turned the feint into a real attack, taking hold of Secorra under his collar, using the man's forward momentum to propel him into a throw, up and above his shoulders, and then driving him _past_ the ground.

_When using momentum of any sort, regardless of a punch, kick, or throw, always try to drive the blow _past_ what you see. That often makes the blow a lot more effective._ It was a frequent piece of advice from Jazelyn.

Before Secorra could recover from the bone crunching slam, Des clutched his opponent's neck.

"Time to finish what I started last time." Des whispered as he squeezed with all his strength.

Oathmaster Biccon Winters was a stern woman, focused on her task of keeping the traditions of Clan Nova Cat alive. She had held the post of Oathmaster for a long time, and would undoubtedly continue to hold it for years to come.

She woke up that morning with a splitting headache after a bad dream, of which she could remember little. Her staff had avoided her for the entire morning, obviously sensing her displeasure and unwilling to draw her ire. They acted more like mice than nova cats that day, creeping around on tiptoes for fear of setting her off.

Biccon could not really understand why, but she felt more and more angry as the morning wore on. She felt cooped up in a cage, even though the Oathmaster's office near the middle of Delphi City was one of the largest buildings on the planet.

_Time to go for a walk_, she told herself. Besides, she had not traveled out into the city for quite a while, and today was as good a day as any other.

Clad in the ceremonial garb of the clan Oathmaster, she cut an imposing figure even among the muscular warriors of the clan. She wore a flowing black robe, and an armor chest plate emblazoned with the image of a nova cat with its jaws open, set on a field of stars. To an onlooker, it would really seem as if the cat was actually springing away from the chest plate.

As she stepped out onto the street, she felt a strange feeling of flash through her spine. It was an unfamiliar sensation of foreboding, not fear, but Biccon had long since learnt that the difference between the two was slight, and that one often leads to the other.

She held a lot of pride in her warrior prowess, even though she was already at an age considered to be solahma in most other clans. Despite that, she was still more than capable of taking on an elemental in physical combat, almost a mandatory requirement for the post of Oathmaster, for she had defeated all who stood before her years ago in the Grand Melee for that exalted role.

She was a mechwarrior of the Winters bloodline, but the base genetic template of the Winters line often provided superior hand to hand combatants, even if they were not elementals. The mechwarrior lines of the House were small with respect to the elemental ones, but still highly respected, and the clan had jealousy guarded possession of the genetic material ever since their founding on Strana Mechty.

She wandered the city, letting her feet take her on sheer whim, though she did feel something tugging at her senses, beckoning this way and that.

She was not the least surprised, then, as she walked into a side street to see a brawl in progress. It was almost as if she was guided here.

_Perhaps this could be important_, she thought.

A youth was holding down a larger man by the throat, apparently trying to strangle him. Both struggling combatants were covered in blood, vomit and sweat, snarling as they twisted around on the ground to gain leverage over the other.

Biccon was more than a bit surprised to see that the man being strangled was actually wearing a red daggerstar on his collar, a symbol of his rank and status, while the boy was wearing the uniform of a cadet. And the boy was coming ever closer to choking the life out of the man.

It looked to be a fair trial, but it also looked wasteful, and the clan could ill afford the loss of a warrior, _especially_ against a mere cadet. Biccon resolved to step in.

She walked forward so that both fighters could see her, then uttered a single word.

"Stop."

The boy looked up, his hands still clenched around the man's throat. The man was already unconscious, the veins of his neck bulging blue with asphyxiation.

"Release him." She ordered.

The boy stared back defiantly. "Neg."

She was not the least impressed by the boy's bravado. "Disobey me, and you shall regret it for the rest of your short and miserable life." She smiled grimly, as if welcoming the chance to fight.

The boy reluctantly withdrew his hands from around the man's neck, and stood up slowly.

"Step back." She ordered as she walked forward to put a finger against the man's neck. She was relieved to feel a weak pulse. Another few seconds and the man would have been dead.

"What is your name, cub?" She asked.

"I am Descartin, of the Burning Tooth sibko." He was practically glowering, his fists at his side ready for another fight.

"Stand away, cub, you stink." She gestured to the man, "Pick him up."

Descartin complied, struggling to lift the man's body up into a fireman carry, but the expression on his face gave away his resentment.

No matter. She was more than a bit intrigued by the fact that a cadet only about 15 years old would be able to defeat a fully trained warrior. Was this what she was supposed to find?

Descartin muttered angrily to himself as he followed the tall woman through the streets of the city, with Secorra over his shoulder. He had half a mind to throw Secorra down onto the floor and getting rid of the instructor once and for all, but the menace exuded by the woman gave him enough reason not to do anything foolish.

When the woman had appeared, he had thought about fighting back against her intrusion, but the attire and look of the woman, not to say of her attitude and confidence, had quickly convinced him that belligerence in this case was probably going to be detrimental to his health. Having once been hammered by Varro Drummond once before, Des had learnt the value of picking fights he could win.

Not that he was in good shape either, as the bruises and vomit all over him indicated. The one thing he wanted right now was a good bath.

Des did not like the strange stares following him as they walked, feeling like a convict on his way to the gallows, another little factoid he had obtained from the holovids.

_I hope Deserk is not having too much trouble finding the holovids_, Descartin thought to himself just as they finally came to a halt before a large building.

The sight of the building was truly shocking, but what came next had him in mortal fear for his life.

It was the way the guards at the front door bowed respectfully to her. "Good morning, Oathmaster." The well-armed guard greeted her.

Biccon Winters nodded once in reply, and strode inside. A dumbfounded Des stared at the building stupidly until she turned around and gave him another of her death glares.

Des hurried forward with his burden, the guards shooting him with looks of disapproval as he passed through the glass doors of the entrance.

_I will be lucky if they post me to potato peeling duty for the rest of my days!_ Des moaned inwardly.

The Oathmaster led him up a long flight of stairs to a room.

"Put him down," She pointed to a cushion, "follow me."

She brought him to another room, a changing room apparently for laborers and techs working in the building. There were also a few shower stalls.

"Take a bath here. There are some clean clothes that I think will fit you in one of the lockers. Wear them. I will talk to you again in a short while. You do know how obey instructions, quiaff?"

Des did not trust his own voice, so he simply nodded instead of speaking. Biccon Winters left the room.

Twenty minutes later, Des was wearing a clean set of light blue technician fatigues, and sitting nervously on a bench in the changing room when a technician entered the room.

"The Oathmaster will speak with you now." The woman said. "Follow me."

She showed him to a door which was labeled with the insignia of the clan and the rank and position of the occupant.

Des took a moment to focus himself, and then opened the door.

The first thing that he noticed was how big the office was. The second thing he noticed was the Oathmaster sitting behind a large wooden desk.

The third thing he noticed was Secorra standing rigidly to attention beside the Oathmaster's desk in a clean uniform. Descartin was especially happy to see the bandage on Secorra's nose.

"Cadet Descartin reporting, sir!" He stood to attention as soon as the door closed behind him.

"At ease." The woman said. "I declare your trial null and void, since it was not sanctioned by a superior officer. What I want to know now, however, is what made you think you could get away with murder."

"Murder?" Des was flabbergasted. "I do not understand."

"You fought against a warrior of the clan without the permission of your superior. Such action is punishable by death."

Biccon Winters stood up, and walked in front of Des. "However, I also understand that Training Officer Secorra was the one who challenged you in the first place, and as clansmen, are we not obligated to fight back when provoked?"

She continued, "Therefore, Secorra will undergo surkai, for he was the one who started this matter first. You will decide his punishment, and then we shall all let the matter rest, quiaff?"

"Aff." Des knew that it was the best he could hope for.

"Officer Secorra?" The Oathmaster prodded.

The instructor grudgingly walked in front of Des, and said, "I ask for forgiveness. I have done wrong, and I will accept the punishment you decide."

As hard as he tried, Des could not keep his glee off his face as he replied, "I forgive you, but perhaps the Oathmaster should decide on the proper punishment."

Biccon Winters nodded approvingly at the way Des had handled the rite of surkai, and said, "Training Officer Secorra, your punishment is to be reassigned to the Fiery Trail Training Center. You may leave now. The two of you will never bother each other again. What say you, Cadet?"

"Well bargained and done."

As Secorra left, Des found himself still standing in the Oathmaster's office. She sat back down behind the desk.

"Cadet, I have reviewed your records, and they are mildly interesting. One thing I have noticed is that you tend to push the odds as far as you can, and so far you have gotten away with it. Here is one piece of free advice, cub, since I feel you still have some potential and capable of redemption."

"Do not believe yourself as above others. Certainly do not fall into the temptation of discarding everything else in your pursuit of victory and glory. Most importantly, do not ever think you are invincible."

Des shook his head. "I have never thought myself as that."

"But you might in the future, and that is why I am warning you now of the dangers of arrogance. Beware, I shall be keeping an eye on you."

"You may leave. Technician Irina will take you to the changing room, where you will be given back your cadet uniform. It has already been cleaned and dried. Wear them back, and go back to your business. " She dismissed him with a wave of her hand.

Descartin was never more relieved in his life as he quickly saluted, pivoted around, and marched out the office. He resolved to look for Deserk, to share this interesting turn of events, and also to celebrate Secorra's departure from their lives.

It had been an interesting and fruitful day, even if that surat Secorra was not dead.

Oathmaster Biccon Winters stared again at the records of the cadet. To tell the truth, she was more than a bit impressed with his abilities. But what fascinated her most was the fact that she knew the warrior in charge of the training facility and one of the training officers for the sibko, Varro Drummond and Jazelyn.

Varro Drummond had been an excellent Star Colonel for the clan, but the vision he had along with then Star Commander Jazelyn had left no choice for the clan but to relegate them to training duty, with injury being Varro's reason and battle fatigue as Jazelyn's.

The more she thought about it, the more she was convinced that the day's incident was not a mere coincidence.

_Perhaps the future is revealed in more than visions_, she mused.

She picked up the commset on her desk, and dialed in the connection to the Training Commander of the Ways of Seeing Training Facility.

As the line was opened on the other side, she spoke.

"Good afternoon, Varro Drummond. This is Oathmaster Biccon Winters. I have something to tell you…"

Sorry again for making you guys wait for two weeks, but I had a few tests in the past week, and schoolwork's drowning me again. And when I'm free on the weekends, I'm usually playing Battletech with the crowd.

So in compensation for the wait, here's a sneak preview from my TRO: 3070.

Note: Contains spoilers for the sequel to New World Order!

**Type/Model:******

**Vampire VAM-5 ******

**Tech:**

Inner Sphere / 3070

**Config:**

Biped BattleMech

**Rules:**

Level 2, Standard design

**Mass:**

55 tons

**Chassis:**

Standard

**Power Plant:**

330 VOX XL Fusion

**Walking Speed:**

64.8 km/h

**Maximum Speed:**

97.2 [118.8] km/h

**Jump Jets:**

6 Standard Jump Jets

**Jump Capacity:**

180 meters

**Armor Type:**

Stealth

**Armament:**

1 Rotary AC/5 

1 ER Medium Laser 

1 Guardian ECM 

**Manufacturer: ** (Unknown) 

** Location: ** (Unknown) 

**Communications System: ** (Unknown) 

**Targeting & Tracking System: **(Unknown) 

**Overview:**

The Word of Blake militia sought another specialty mech to fulfill the role of a mech assassin, but still more than capable of battlefield action.  
Even with the re-introduction of the null-signature system onto the battlefield, it was too difficult to produce for their existing Exterminator and Spector mechs.  
Precentor Martial Cameron St. Jamais ordered Word of Blake technicians to comb through the best House technologies for the new headhunter design, and the result was the Vampire, one of the deadliest designs ever to grace the modern battlefield.

**Capabilities:**

The designers did not need to look too long before they had their first design consideration pinned down, the stealth armor system developed by the Capellan Confederation.  
Virtually the equal of the null-sig system in purpose, the stealth armor was quite a bit cheaper and easier to produce, which fit the bill for the purposes of the Word of Blake.  
Next up was the speed of the mech. A minimum speed of 90 kph was set in order to ensure that most mechs could be caught by the Vampire. An XL engine was used in order for adequate weaponry to be mounted. Jump jets were almost a mandatory requirement.  
Weapons were a bit of a problem. The one flaw the designers found for the stealth and null-sig systems was that they prevented the efficient venting of heat with the heat-bafflers, which meant that designs employing both these technologies and laser armament often suffered from heat problems.  
Autocannons were an obvious solution, but they wanted the mech to have a real punch as well, which was quite difficult with its lack of spare mass for heavier autocannon calibers.  
The theft of design plans from Achernar Battlemechs for the RAC/5 autocannon by ROM agents was a godsend(or Blakesend) to the Vampire design team.  
They easily incorporated the weapon into the mech, and included a targeting computer to increase its chances of hitting a target.  
With a bit of space and mass left over, they put in an extended range medium laser for some added punch and triple strength myomer to take advantage of the increased heat from the stealth armor system.  
The completed Vampire had phenomenal firepower and speed for a mech of its weight class, plus a targeting computer for enhanced accuracy and a highly effective defense system.

**Battle History:**

The Vampire was seen in action only once, in a raid by anti-Word of Blake elements on Terra on one of their bases.  
A guerilla fighter managed to commandeer a prototype Vampire from the base hanger, and proceeded to cover the retreat of his comrades as they tried to depart with supplies seized from the base.  
In a showpiece display of the mech's abilities, the Vampire fought off an entire lance of light and medium Word of Blake mechs in a series of brilliant hit and fade actions.  
The climax of the battle came when the Vampire faced off against an Initiate, then tore its opponent apart as it pushed the RAC/5 cannon to its limit, while using the targeting computer to aim straight for the center of the Initiate, ripping through the center torso and destroying the mech.  
The Vampire retreated with heavy damage, and has remained in the hands of the guerillas until Operation Grand Slam.

**Notable 'Mechs & MechWarriors:**

Adept XII Luc Lossey  
A former member of the 208th Division, Luc managed to escape into the wilds of the Gunnison Mountain Range after their betrayal and pursuit by the Shadow Lancers.  
Although dispossessed, he fought with the resistance groups for a long time, never losing hope in their final victory.  
Frank Meronac passed the Vampire to him after the spectacular raid, and Luc acquitted himself with courage and skill afterwards, determined never to lose a mech again.  
Luc's faith was vindicated with the liberation of Terra, and he was honored for his steadfast contribution to the cause. Hailed as a hero, he found himself transferred to the 278th Division on Tukayyid, to face the Clans in the "Lestat", as he had named his Vampire.

**Deployment**

The loss of the prototype and its performance records set back the mech-hunter program by several months. By the time the Word of Blake was about to start tests for a new prototype, Operation Grand Slam commenced.  
With the liberation of Terra, Comstar and the rapidly reformed SLDF have managed to recover plans for the Vampire, as well as the performance records and the sole working prototype from the guerillas.  
Precentor Martial Victor Steiner-Davion has not decided whether to produce these deadly mechs, though it appears that Ian Calderon is urging him to do so.  
Only one Vampire, the prototype, has been deployed. Repaired and rearmed, it now serves proudly in the 278th Division(The Khan Killers).

* * *

**Type/Model:******

**Vampire VAM-5******

**Mass:**

55 tons

**Equipment:******

****

**Crits******

**Mass******

**Internal Structure:**

91 pts Standard

0

5.50

**Engine:**

330 XL 

12

12.50

**Walking MP:**

6 [7]

**Running MP:**

9 [11]

**Jumping MP:**

6

**Heat Sinks:**

10 Double [20] 

0

.00

**Gyro:**

4

4.00

**Cockpit, Life Support:**

5

3.00

**Triple Strength Myomer:**

6

.00

**Actuators: **

L: Sh+UA+LA+H, R: Sh+UA+LA+H

16

.00

**Armor Factor:**

144 pts Stealth

12

9.00

(Armor Crit Loc: 2 LA, 2 RA, 2 LT, 2 RT, 2 LL, 2 RL)

* * *

****

****

**Internal******

**Armor******

**Structure**

**Value**

**Head:**

3

9

**Center Torso:**

18

23

**Center Torso (Rear):**

8

**L/R Side Torso:**

13

16/16

**L/R Side Torso (Rear):**

5/5

**L/R Arm:**

9

14/14

**L/R Leg:**

13

17/17

* * *

**Weapons & Equipment:******

**Loc******

**Heat******

**Ammo******

**Crits******

**Mass******

1 Rotary AC/5 

RA 

1

40

8

12.00

(Ammo Loc: 2 RT)

1 ER Medium Laser 

LA 

5

1

1.00

1 Guardian ECM 

CT 

0

2

1.50

1 Targeting Computer

LT 

3

3.00

Stealth Armor Heat

10

CASE Equipment:

RT

1

.50

6 Standard Jump Jets:

6

3.00

(Jump Jet Loc: 3 LT, 3 RT)

**TOTALS:**

21

**76**

**55.00**

**Crits & Tons Left:**

2

.00

* * *

**Calculated Factors:******

**Total Cost:**

13,842,740 C-Bills

**Battle Value:**

1,555

**Cost per BV:**

8,902.08

**Weapon Value:**

1,011 / 1,011 (Ratio = .65 / .65)

**Damage Factors:**

SRDmg = 23; MRDmg = 16; LRDmg = 2

**BattleForce2:**

**MP:** 6J, **Armor/Structure:** 4/2

**Damage PB/M/L:** 4/3/-, **Overheat:** 0

**Class:** MM, **Point Value:** 16

**Specials: **ecm

* * *

**Created with HeavyMetal Pro**


	6. Hallowed Sights

_Ways Of Seeing Training Facility, Barcella,_

_Kerensky Cluster,_

_18th January 3047_

It was a high cliff out in the middle of almost nowhere, a barren, rocky landscape pocked by scattered tufts of brown shrub struggling to draw what moisture they could out of the unforgiving soil.

A group of battlemechs marched through the area in pairs, led by an old and battered _Highlander_. Most of the battlemechs did not move as smoothly as the _Highlander_, occasionally kicking up stones and dust as they walked over the rough terrain.

"Listen up, you cubs!" Training Officer Iachi, Secorra's replacement, stopped his _Highlander_ at the edge of the cliff.

Since Secorra's departure, Iachi, a solahma warrior who had actually volunteered for training duty became their instructor. He was far better than Secorra had ever been, and was not above a few dirty tricks of his own to show his greater experience. Of course, he had always passed on small tips and insights to his charges, the product of years on the battlefield. This had endeared him to them, as much for his knowledge as his willingness to help them succeed.

"This is your jump jet test area! Here we shall find out if any of you has an actual fear of heights, as well as your ability to maximize the use of your jump jets!"

The cadets all peered warily over the cliff edge, where a huge canyon three hundred meters wide beckoned below. Descartin was careful not to lean his _Panther_ too far forward, lest the pull of gravity dragged his mech into the deep abyss.

There was another cliff on the other side of the canyon, about two hundred meters lower than their present vantage point. On the ground of the cliff was marked a small circle, ringed by several short poles.

Iachi spoke again. "I am sure all of you have seen the platform on the other side. The objective of today's test, is for all of you to jump to the other side! Fail, and you will be dashed to pieces on the ground." Iachi pushed Lintya's _Valkyrie_ to the edge of the cliff.

"Make sure you know how to feather your jets, Cadet Lintya," Iachi said easily as he shoved the _Valkyrie_ off the cliff almost offhandedly with the left arm of the _Highlander_.

Lintya's scream of sheer terror as her mech fell through the air did not seem to deter Iachi any, as he shouted, "Everybody off in three seconds! Two, one…"

Descartin was already working the legs of the _Panther_, sprinting to the edge of the cliff and then leaping off. He stepped on his pedals for a few moments, frantically trying to get them to work as the mech dropped down, before he remembered the most basic command action for jumping a mech.

Des _stomped_ on the pedals. Hard. With both feet.

The blasts vents of the _Panther_ erupted with flame, pushing out massive forces sufficient to lift thirty five tons of battlemech against gravity's grasp. All around him, his sibkin did the same, lighting up the sky with their drive plumes.

It was an impressive sight from Iachi's _Highlander_, as the cadets overcame their fear of the canyon below and concentrated their skills on reaching the landing spot on the opposite cliff. The mechs dipped and rose in the air as they tried to extract as much lift and distance from the limited charges on their jump jets, taking care not to lift too high and waste their jump juice. They could not afford to drop too far either, for the built up momentum from gravity's pull would become too much even for the fusion powered jets to overcome.

As every physicist and engineer knew, jump jets were brute force devices to propel multi-ton machines through the air, because most mechs were built with all the aerodynamic stability of a brick.

"Woohoo!" More than one cadet shouted as they flew through the air on plasma jets.

"All of you, shut up!" Iachi ordered stridently. The frequency quickly cleared of their cheers.

Deserk's _Javelin_ reached the other side first, flexing its legs as it slammed down on the hard ground of the cliff.

"Clear off, clear off!" Descartin yelled as he noted the limited space for landing. It was going to be a tight fit if all the cadets were going to land on that small circle. His own _Panther_ was out of jump charge, so he was looking to land as close to the edge as possible. It was yet another handicap placed on him, as the _Panther_ had the least jumping distance than any of the other mechs.

"Aff. Moving out." Deserk sounded off. The _Javelin_ sprinted off just as Des's _Panther_ finally landed right behind it, the leg actuators whining from the tremendous stress placed on them, exacerbated by the fact that Des had been unable to push his jets for a softer landing.

Des bounced around inside his cockpit as the mech landed heavily, keeping a light touch on his pedals and his HOTAS all the time, fearing that any sudden movement on his controls due to the violent landing of the mech might affect his control.

A red light on his actuator status panel came on, indicating damage to the lower actuator on the right leg. The instructors were not going to be happy with this.

Des started the _Panther_ limping out of the landing circle, clearing the space for the other cadets as they streamed in, even Lintya, who had managed to recover from her shock.

"Excellent!" Jazelyn declared from her _Crockett_, wading towards the cadets as they milled around waiting for further instructions. "You have all passed the test. Easy, was it not?"

All the cadets knew better than to reply. The last time somebody had said a test was easy, he had ended up taking it again under more difficult conditions.

It was a verbal trap, pure and simple.

"Cadet Descartin, your _Panther_ has taken serious damage to its leg. As punishment, you will have to assist the technicians in repairing it. Let this also be a lesson to all of you!" Her _Crockett_ walked up to each cadet's mech, the large cockpit of the assault mech pausing for the barest second in front of each cadet before moving on, as though she was trying to eye them personally through the plexiglass screen.

"Foul up, and you will to repair any unacceptable damage to your mechs! This will teach you to take greater care of your mechs, as we will be moving on to heavy mechs and high powered weapons soon!" The _Crockett_ backed off.

Descartin did not like that, since she did not state exactly what could be construed as 'unacceptable damage', which could be anything from a scratch to wholesale destruction of a mech. Not likely, but still, he shuddered to think of the time a cadet would have to put in at the repair stall in the case of a destroyed mech.

"Now proceed back to base!" She ordered.

Later that evening in their barracks, after two hours of finding out more about leg myomer patterns, actuator stress tolerances, and monkey wrench sizes than he had ever wanted to know, Des waited nervously for his 'turn'.

That was what they had all started calling it since it started several evenings ago. Each evening, one cadet would be called up from the bunk before dinner by Training Officer Jazelyn, and then return only late after midnight, exhausted and drained, not to mention hungry.

All of them had refused to speak of what they did the night they were 'taken', and Des was beginning to have a real fright at what it entailed.

Sex? Perhaps, but he was strangely determined not to indulge in wasteful sexual activity of any kind, since he felt that such activity distracts the mind and body from achieving the pinnacle of warrior ability. True, Jazelyn might be really fine-looking, but it was also common knowledge that she coupled frequently and often with Varro Drummond, and Des really did not want to invite any more difficulty than necessary into his training.

Torture? Des knew for certain that he was not a sadomasochist, and as brave as he thought he was, there were limits to anybody's courage. Visions of stretching racks, water wheels, and branding devices, all gleaned from his stash of holovids, raced through his mind.

Something else? Try as he might, Des could not think of anything else.

And it was all the worse because he was the last cadet, the only one who had not been called up yet. The others simply held their lips tightly, refusing to even give him a hint of what they went through. Not even Deserk, despite Descartin's most dire threats or most persuasive bribes, offered a word about it.

"Cadet Descartin! Come out now!" Jazelyn stood in the doorway of their bunk, her slight figure casting a rather sinister shadow on the ground.

Trying to ignore the pitying stares of the rest of his sibkin, Descartin trooped out obediently, his head held high in a show of bravado. He jutted out his jaw in he hoped was a suitable show of defiance.

"Why are you holding your head that way, Cadet? You look like a Jade Falcon with his feathers plucked." Jazelyn scolded as she saw him.

A chastened Des immediately lowered his head back down.

"Now follow me." Jazelyn commanded, walking away with long strides.

A few minutes later, Des found himself outside a tent. Jazelyn herself ducked in with only a "Stay right here" instruction for him.

Des immediately started to sweat, thinking of all the things that could happen to him. He did not have long to wait, as Varro Drummond shouted for him to enter the tent.

He had time for only a quick prayer to the same god that so many protagonists in the holovids seem to invoke whenever they were in trouble before he went into Varro's room. He did not know if such a being actually existed, but it did make him feel better.

He was surprised to see Varro and Jazelyn both sitting solemnly on the ground, with a small fire in the middle of the circle, the smoke from the flames rising up through a hole in the tent into the night sky above.

"Come and sit down, cadet." Varro ordered, indicating a position opposite him.

Des sat down slowly, still wary of what might be inflicted on him.

"Do not be stupid, cadet." Jazelyn smiled carefully. "We are not going to eat you. This is a rite of passage for all members of the clan, regardless of caste. It is also one of our most honored traditions, but also one that we do not draw attention to until the time is right." She stopped speaking, giving Descartin time to digest her words.

Varro soon took up where Jazelyn left off. "At about the age of sixteen, every member of the clan will undergo this shortened vision rite, guided by his or her elders. After this rite, the clansman is considered an adult, entitled to the privileges and responsibilities of such. For warriors in training, it further serves as a threshold for their progress, as it denotes the final stages of their preparation for their first Trial of Position."

Jazelyn spoke again, "Almost all who undergo this first ritual fail to see anything, but all gain a deeper understanding of the clan and the path of visions." She sprinkled some dust onto the fire, a fine white powder that caused the fire to sizzle with colors of blue and green, even as the resulting strong aroma rose up into Des's nostrils, a heady perfume that engulfed his senses.

"Sandra Rosse, our beloved Khan, showed us that in order to shape our present, we must both revere the past and embrace the future. But the means to do so is limited, and only by visions are we able to catch the barest glimpses of what might be, can be, or must not be."

Varro spoke. "Now open your mind to all that lies around and about you. Discard your thoughts and fears, your hopes and dreams. If you can, shut out even the sound of my voice. Look for yourself within the fire, and listen within your soul. Do not think of time, for the very essence of a vision is the movement of your mind across time."

The instructions seemed contradictory, but Des stared at the fire as he was told. Trying to ignore everything else though, was proving to be extremely difficult, because Des simply could not comprehend how he could ignore things if he had to _pay_ attention to them in order to even ignore them.

His mind wandered around in this logic trap for two long hours before he was able to simply shut them out, by concentrating only on the flame before him. Meanwhile, Varro and Jazelyn seemed to have left the circle. Des kicked himself mentally. He was not supposed to notice such things!

He settled down again, forcing himself to concentrate on the flame set in front and the void within himself. The growling sounds from his stomach and the messages of exhaustion that his body insisted on sending to his brain did not help matters any, so Des did his best to shut them out.

His eyelids also threatened to misbehave, creeping down ever so deviously until he jerked himself back to full awareness. The cycle carried on for several hours.

Until Des felt himself slipping into darkness. He thought he had finally fallen asleep, but he could not wake up no matter how hard he tried.

Then it happened. He saw a nova cat cub, sitting by another fully grown nova cat in the darkness. The cub groomed itself, licking at its paws. Then it got up, and started walking.

Des found himself following the cub for several moments before he realized belatedly that he was having a vision.

A vision!

The cub wandered around in the darkness only for a moment, quickly coming to stop by another large animal that had faded in. It was a massive bear with pale, ghostly white coloration. Des recognized the magnificent beast for what it was, a ghost bear. The bear prowled warily around the cub, sniffing it with its pale nose, even giving it a shove or two. In the end, it seemed to accept the cub, allowing the cub to accompany it.

After a while, the cub separated from the bear to join up with a horse with razor sharp teeth, stamping angrily on the ground with clawed hooves, seemingly breathing fire out from its nose. The horse stared at the cub disdainfully through blood red eyes, tossing its wild mane from side to side, before it continued on its journey with the nova cat, which seemed to be slowly growing larger.

The same process of events repeated themselves, with different animals each time, but they all had one feature in common. They were all totem beasts of the Clans.

Des watched with amazement as the cub eventually became an adult, but the last animal it approached did not register as a clan at all. It was a purple eagle, balefully eyeing the cat. The eagle shrieked once, a loud piercing cry that shook Des to his soul. 

The darkness disappeared, the eagle gradually fading into the fire that burned in front of him, as an awed Varro said, "You saw a vision, quiaff?"

"Aff. But I do not understand what I saw. What does it all mean?"

"What did you see?" Asked an intrigued Varro.

It took a few seconds for an exhausted Des to gather his scattered thoughts. "I saw a nova cat cub. It traveled with many animals, most of which were clan totems, one at a time, and it grew to adulthood. It ended with the nova cat at the feet of a strange bird, an eagle. Then it ended. So strange."

Des did not notice Varro or Jazelyn's shock at his account, because he was barely cognizant of his own surroundings. All he knew was the fatigue throughout his body, as he slumped in his position.

Jazelyn managed to break out of her shock first, "That shall be all, cadet. You have done well, and receiving your first vision at your age is a truly exceptional feat. The meaning of the vision will be revealed in time, so do not worry over it too much. You may return to your bunk for rest now." She gestured to outside the tent.

Des gathered his last few reserves of strength, and managed to stagger back to his bed, where he immediately fell into a deep and troubled sleep.

"It must be him. There could be no other." Varro declared emphatically. "His vision was identical to ours, save that his stopped at the eagle."

"It could mean anything." Jazelyn countered, acting as devil's advocate. "He could be like us, simply tools in the way."

"No. If he was just a tool, as you suggest, why would his vision stop at the exact point that ours differ? It could only because the path of the future would take depends on his choices." Varro started dousing the fire, using a bucket of soil.

"And if so, why did you not tell him?"

"Because it might have affected him, made him overconfident. He might become too confident in his fate, and not work hard enough to earn that vision."

"And our role in this would be…"

"To push him to his limits, and then beyond them. He will need to be strong, in order to fulfill his destiny."

"Should we tell the Oathmaster?"

"Certainly. She deserves to know, and maybe she might be able to help us interpret the vision through some new insight."

Jazelyn's face turned hopeful. "Who knows, we might even be able to return to active warrior duty earlier than expected."

Varro shook his head. "You will be able to return, but I do not think I will."

"Why not?" She asked in a worried voice. "Despite your injuries and your age, you are still one of the clan's best warriors."

"It is not a matter of being able to, but rather a matter of wanting to. I have gained my bloodname, ensured the immortality of my genes. I have achieved all that a warrior aspires to, and I can contribute more by honing the skills of future generations of warriors."

"But I have not taken my bloodname yet, and I want my chance." Jazelyn insisted. "We were an unstoppable team in the past, and together we can achieve even greater glory."

"Aff, but there is one more reason why I will stay here. Despite my belief that young Descartin is the cub in the vision, you are right to be cautious. He might not be the one, and that means we still have to stay here until he proves it beyond all doubt."

Jazelyn was stricken. "Then my chances of glory are gone. I shall be thirty five years old in a month's time, and another five years would leave me as solahma, with no commander willing to take me into a front line unit." She leaned her face against the tent, overcome by the implications.

Varro nodded apologetically. "Aff. I am sorry. But there are ways to pass on your genetic heritage without being accepted into the program…"

She caught on quickly, and the vehemence on her face was no surprise. "No! I will rather die than submit to that fate!"

"Then there seems to be no other alternative for you. I wish I could change the rules, turn back time, give you the chance you deserve so many years ago, but all that is impossible now." He reached for her shoulder, squeezing it gently in a show of support, half afraid she would knock it away.

Jazelyn did not, and she spoke in a husky voice, "The clan, and you, owe me a ransom for what I have sacrificed. And maybe that ransom can take away my pain." She reached for Varro's hand on her, and pulled it to her face, slowly dragging an unresisting Varro to his quarters.

_Well_, Varro thought wryly to himself later, _there are far worse ransoms to think of_.

Hmmm… the response for the first chapter of Seekers in Shadow was almost overwhelming. Thanks very much!

On the downside, I'm beginning to feel some real pressure here. :D

I still have to keep up with ATSOS though, since this sets a great deal of the background for Des Winters. Almost definitely, updates for SIS will be much slower than this fic, because I still need some details from the CBT timeline. Like how many FC units were left from the Civil(definitely uncivil) War, Wobblie plans for the future, as well as some details of the Taurian Concordat(like the entire list of TDF units!) so that I can write Ian's sections!

For the beginning of this chapter, I was trying hard to invoke a cinematic scene of mechs jumping across the canyon. The middle was all about the vision/prophecy, and the end was a bit of WAFF.

I won't be wasting any more time on this fic, and so the next chapter would be four years later, as the cadets go for their trials of position. The time would be late 3050, and every fan should know what that means!

And no I'm not Mike Stackpole, nor even anywhere close yet, but his fans can look forward to his new MW: DA novel, Ghost War, about a lumberjack(!!) thrust into war. Still, I have to admit my intense dislike for MW: DA, as several more astute readers have noticed in my prologue for Seekers. The game system is fun, but is even more unrealistic than CBT. I won't even go into the contrived manner in which Devlin "Superman" Stone managed to defeat nuke-throwing Wobblies, whose intel service ROM was so good that nobody had any idea of their impending assault.

*control, control, take a deep breath*

Anyway, that's it for this week. I'll see about another chapter for either fic in 3 weeks time!


	7. Tempting Fate

_Ways Of Seeing Training Facility, Barcella,_

_Kerensky Cluster,_

_21st July 3051_

It was the day they had waited, had worked for, all their lives. The day they would prove themselves, or forever be relegated to the mindless, mundane ranks of the lower castes.

The day of their Trial of Positions.

Descartin looked around the waiting room, where the other members of his sibko awaited their turn to go to the mechbay, where they would get into their assigned mechs, and march out to their destiny.

The tension in the room was expected, but less familiar was the feeling of fear. Des glared at Feelia, who had started it when she had admitted her trepidation at the Trial. Then Lintya had come with her own fears, and suddenly everybody was sharing their worst nightmares.

Consequently, the confidence in the room had plummeted from its normal sky high levels like a sinking _Dire Wolf_ in water, the seemingly rock solid arrogance of the warriors-to-be punctured as easily as a balloon.

Of course, only Des knew what a balloon was, and the comparison was appropriate, since the arrogance was only puffed up by a lot of hot air.

Feelia was right to be concerned, since she had consistently the lowest scores, but the others had no excuse for being afraid. Fearful, yes, but not so scared that their skills would be impaired. Des was feeling a bit nervous himself, but he did not let it grow as the others had. He suppressed it ruthlessly, but leaving a bit of it behind, allowing it to hone the edge of his keen senses, making use of it.

_If I cannot suppress it utterly, I shall not let it overwhelm my senses either. _Des thought to himself.

Unfortunately, that did not hold for the rest of the sibko. Descartin sighed, before he decided to help everybody.

"I always had a problem with missile trajectories. What if my opponent goes for a long range duel?" Nioco was saying.

"Then you deal with it." Des cut in, his voice firm. The rest of the sibko turned to look at him.

He said, "This is the most important day of our lives. I do not blame you if you feel afraid to some extent, but to allow your fear to control you can only lead to failure."

"We are all good enough. The scores from our mock runs and other tests can attest to that. All we need to do now is to believe it ourselves."

"But they do not mean anything." Deserk protested.

"They did to our instructors. Remember what Commander Varro Drummond and his staff said to us? They said they look forward to serving with us as warriors. If that was not a sign of their confidence in us, I will gladly fight a _Dire Wolf _in a _Fire Moth_."

Des motioned everybody to sit in a circle. As the unacknowledged leader of the sibko, even though there was never any such official position as Cadet Leader or the like, everybody listened to him.

Once they were all seated, he said, "Close your eyes." He closed his own eyes. "Picture yourself fighting in the Trial. Your opponent fights valiantly, and so do you. Lasers and missiles fly forth to shatter armor, the sound of thunder roaring across the battlefield."

"Then you finally defeat your opponent. You face another mech, and you fight on. But you _know_, that you are finally a warrior of the clan, and you are presented with the daggerstar as you climb down from your wrecked mech after the Trial. Congratulations, warriors of the clan."

"Now open your yes." Des ordered. As expected, their eyes were no longer filled with fear, replaced by eagerness and confidence.

"As you all know, two days ago, the ilKhan activated our clan to take part in the return to the Inner Sphere. I probably do not have to tell you that as newly minted warriors, we will all get to step foot on the blessed worlds our ancestors left. I most certainly do not have to tell you of the glorious battles we will have battling House Kurita, or showing up the Smoke Jaguars for the inept fools they are, quineg?" They all laughed at that.

"So then, we all know what is going to happen. All that remains is getting there." He drew back his lips in a predator's smile. "Let us show them what the Burning Tooth Sibko is made of, quiaff?"

Des marched his _Timber Wolf_ across the rolling plains, his eyes checking his sensors constantly for any sign of his enemies. Three hundred meters to his left, Deserk was probably doing the same in his _Summoner_.

They were the last group to move out, the last pair to fight their trials. The others had all completed their trials, and Des hoped that everybody had made it through.

His _Timber Wolf_ had been configured to suit his fighting style. He loved energy weapons for their range and durability, and had placed as many of them on the mech as possible.

An ER PPC protruded from each arm of the chicken-legged mech, while three extended range medium lasers rode in each of his side torsos. An anti-missile system rounded out his arsenal, placed in his right torso.

He had also given the _Timber Wolf_ jumping capability, able to jump up to 150 meters, as well as ample heat sinks to jump and fire either set of his weapons without overheating.

His particle cannons were tied into his secondary Target Interlock Circuit, while the mediums were tied to his tertiary TIC. He figured he would not have to use the primary TIC, which would fire _all_ his weapons, unless the situation got desperate, or advantageous of him to do so.

_At least I hope it would not get desperate_. Des had already formed up his own plan for the Trial, where he hoped to take down as many mechs as possible.

He punched up the map of the area on his secondary HUD again, checking for spots where he could employ the mech's jumping ability to its utmost.

A pinging sound drew his attention to his radar screen. His opponents had appeared. Three glowing red dots appeared on the screen, each one britsling with weapons.

Des wanted to laugh once he saw the mechs of his opponents. A _Hellbringer_, a _Gargoyle_, and a _Dire Wolf_. They would probably attack him with the lightest mech, the _Hellbringer_, first, then the _Gargoyle_, then the _Dire Wolf_. A strategy for taking out all three mechs one by one came to him.

He launched the _Timber Wolf _into a sprinting run for a nearby clump of woods, taking care to remain just out of range of the _Hellbringer_, which had also started running forward.

His opponent fired first, two large laser beams nipping at his heels before a burst of autocannon fire chased Des into the woods. A swarm of missiles slammed into the ground, but all its weapons had missed.

_My turn_, Des told himself as he lined up his PPCs. Two particle beams streaked out in a flash of artificial lightning, one passing wide of the _Hellbringer_, but the other carving into its left torso.

First blood to me, Des grinned under his neurohelmet. Hellbringers were notoriously under-armored, and there was a slight chance of internal damage from his shot.

His belief was vindicated by a glow of intense red from the infrared spectrum display of the _Hellbringer_. _Engine hit!_ Des exulted.

The duel was over, and everybody watching knew it. All that remained was for Des to pick apart the _Hellbringer_ at range, and for the _Hellbringer_ to try to inflict as much damage on the _Timber Wolf _before it was destroyed.

The _Hellbringer_ continued to close, its weapons blazing out hot death. Des stayed in the woods, relying on the cover of the trees to shield his mech. The _Hellbringer_ moved sluggishly, its heat levels slowing it down, and Des hoped, affecting the targeting systems.

He trained his PPCs carefully on the _Hellbringer_, and the _Hellbringer_ fired just as Des pressed down on his secondary TIC.

The slight rocking of the _Timber Wolf_ told him the _Hellbringer_'s ultra autocannon had struck home, but those hits were mere pinpricks compared to the sheer devastation of his PPCs.

One PPC slashed into the left torso, completing the destruction of the engine components there and the array of lasers placed there, while the other bolt of lightning slammed into the right. As before, it shoved past the armor and penetrated to the internals.

Only difference this time, was that it lit off the store of LRM ammunition there. A gout of fire erupted out of the _Hellbringer_, as the once formidable omnimech crashed to the ground.

_One down!_ Des tried to tell himself dispassionately in his mind, but he simply could not keep the gladness and joy away from his heart. _I am now a warrior of the clan!_

Furthermore, he had suffered negligible damage in this first duel. True, he owed it to some lucky shots, but Des also ascribed to the adage that a warrior produced his own luck.

_Let me see how many mechs I can take down._ Des licked his lips in eager anticipation as he jumped the _Timber Wolf_ to a set of hills a hundred meters away in response to the _Gargoyle_ bearing down on him.

Deserk was not as happy as his fellow cadet. In fact, he was in real trouble.

It had an innocuous hit by his first opponent, a series of cluster hits from the _Mad Dog_'s medium bore LBX autocannon.

Unfortunately, one such cluster had somehow found a chink in his _Summoner_'s armor, and gone in to damage the engine shielding. Which did not bode well for him at all.

Even worse for him was that his ultra autocannon had decided to jam on only his second burst.

"Freebirth!" Deserk yelled as the status light for the autocannon turned red. He reached for the controls, and started dumping the ammunition for the now useless weapon out of the mech, rather than letting it remain for a potentially fatal ammunition explosion.

Deserk backpedaled the _Summoner_ away from the _Mad Dog_, firing his LRMs to force it at a distance. The _Mad Dog _seemed content to engage in a long range battle, relying on its LB-5X and ER PPC to chip away at the _Summoner_.

Deserk had only his own LRM-10 to serve as his reply, but he used them as best as he could, whittling down the _Mad Dog_'s defenses before his LRM ammo ran out. There was no way he was going to close in onto the Mad Dog with its 6 SRM-6 packs before he had damaged it as much as possible.

Both mechs danced around each other for long moments, exchanging relatively light weapons fire as they tried to get a lucky salvo in.

Deserk fired only when he was sure of a hit, but this also meant that the _Mad Dog_ also had a better volume of fire, especially with the ER PPC.

_That weapon could fire forever_. Deserk snarled in frustration. _And I cannot stay at long range when my LRMs run out either._

He ducked the _Summoner _down just in time to avoid another particle beam, then jumped out of the way, encouraging the _Mad Dog _to fire another shotgun cluster at the rapidly moving mech.

_All or nothing. I cannot keep this up forever. _Deserk thought to himself, then he decided to take a gamble. _I have to close in, but stay just beyond the range of those SRM packs._

He moved the mech forward this time, but took care to halt at a hundred meters away, just short of the range envelope of the _Mad Dog_'s SRMs. He got lucky this time in that the _Mad Dog _simply stood where it was in a 'stand and deliver' posture, instead of closing to better use its missiles.

Deserk grinned at his small piece of fortune as he fired all his weapons. The streak system managed to get a lock first, sending six SRMs streaking towards the _Mad Dog_ like sharks scenting blood. Three medium lasers followed, with only one hitting the _Mad Dog_, scarring the right arm armor.

The 'fire and forget' streak missiles had a much greater impact. Three of them exploded on the left arm, throwing off the _Mad Dog_'s shot with the autocannon on that arm. The rest chipped off armor all over his opponent.

What _was_ surprising was the destination of the cluster rounds from the _Mad Dog_.

"Melee has been initiated." The computer droned out as the shells hit a _Dire Wolf_ in the rear.

_Freebirth! _Deserk cursed again.

Descartin jumped his _Timber Wolf_ away from the _Gargoyle_, taking advantage of his greater mobility in the hilly terrain to stay at range and snipe at his opponent with a steady series of particle beams.

The _Gargoyle_ was singularly unsuitable for such a battle, packing a fearsome array of medium lasers and a super heavy ultra autocannon that would tear apart Des's mech if it ever got within range.

_If _it ever got within range, which Des was taking great pains to avoid. His tactic had paid great dividends, allowing him to slash away a huge chunk of the _Gargoyle_'s protection.

He would tease and bait the _Gargoyle_, forever trying to close in, but unable to because of Des's ability to jump away just when it was in a position to corner him.

If they had been able to communicate, Des was sure the _Gargoyle_ pilot would be cursing him over the comms with the vilest epithets in the clan vocabulary. Clan warriors, quite simply, do not use such hit and run dezgra tactics.

_Their loss_, Des remarked silently, as he ran the _Timber Wolf_ down another hill, before spinning around quickly to target the pursuing _Gargoyle_, which had just crested the hill to skylight itself against the sky.

A perfect target.

Des thumbed his secondary TIC as soon as the targeting cursor glowed red, and sent two electric streams flying through the air towards the _Gargoyle_. One particle bolt sheared away more of the torso armor, while the other slashed into the damaged right leg, its fragile myomer already peaking out from the melted armor composite.

The _Gargoyle_ staggered, and Des guessed that it had lost some actuators on that limb. That would definitely slow down the normally fast assault mech.

His opponent limped down the hill at a fraction of its former speed, while Des edged away slowly, knowing that there was no way the hobbled mech could keep up with the _Timber Wolf_, taking the time to place his aim squarely on the Gargoyle to ensure his shots hit.

Des waited impatiently for his PPCs to finish their recharging cycle, and fired them the second the weapons were ready. He intended to finish off the mech with this salvo, aiming his PPCs low to take out the _Gargoyle_'s legs.

One PPC shot missed, but the other did hit the _Gargoyle_ again on its shattered right leg, burning its way through the thin layers of myomer and the structural steel alloy that formed the bones of a mech.

The _Gargoyle_ crashed to the ground, and its pilot signaled defeat, leaving Des with almost untouched armor and a hunger for more targets.

_Two down, one more to go,_ he told himself. Yet there was a whisper in his mind, urging him to initiate a melee, and go for four kills, which had never been accomplished before. He ignored the treacherous voice, focusing on the speck that was his next opponent.

_Let me see now,_ Des thought as he shifted the _Timber Wolf _to face the _Dire Wolf _approaching him, _close in, or stay far?_

He toggled his sensors through all the mechs present, just to see how Deserk was doing. And he realized his sibmate was in trouble. The red glow from the _Summoner_'s engine, as well as the three opponents still remaining on Deserk's side told him that much.

But he could not help Deserk, since they did not agree beforehand to allow each other to shoot their targets for four kills.

"Impressive, is it not?" Varro Drummond asked the tall woman standing beside him. "He had taken out two of his assigned opponents already, yet he had suffered little damage, and must be thinking of attaining his Star Captaincy."

Oathmaster Biccon Winters grunted in response, her attention firmly fixed on the holotank showing the progress of the Trial of Position.

She replied, "His last opponent is no fool. Star Commander Gayle has a balanced loadout on her _Dire Wolf_ which Cadet, neg, _Star Commander_ Descartin will find difficult to exploit."

They watched as the _Timber Wolf _moved to open the gap between the two mechs. Evidently, Descartin was seeking another long range duel.

However, the _Dire Wolf _could afford to play the same game. Gayle staked out a hilltop early on, and proceeded to just stay there and trade fire with the evading _Timber Wolf_.

The weight of weapons fire clearly favored the _Dire Wolf_, which had a staggering array of weapons to choose from. Four ER large lasers, two medium ultra autocannons, an LRM rack, and another four medium pulse lasers had earned it the fitting name of _Daishi_, or _Great Death_, in the Draconis Combine where it had appeared and fought with such devastating effect in their return to the Inner Sphere.

On their own, none of the _Dire Wolf_'s weapons were as hard hitting as the _Timber Wolf_'s dual ER PPCs, but they hammered Descartin relentlessly, a storm of metal and light that washed over the heavy omnimech wherever it went.

Descartin managed to keep his footing throughout the battle, despite his armor losses, replying with his own weapons, hitting more often than not. As she watched, Biccon silently agreed with Varro that Descartin was almost surely the finest warrior of his generation, even if he had a slight tendency to use dezgra tactics.

Out of nowhere, a burst of cluster rounds suddenly struck the _Dire Wolf_. The damage was negligible, but according to the rules of the clan, whenever a mech that was not involved in the present battle, or a mech that was assigned to the other candidate was hit, the Trial would turn into a melee.

The battlefield suddenly fell silent as everybody tried to digest this new development.

Then the _Timber Wolf_ started sprinting for the _Mad Dog _that was about to cripple Cadet Deserk's _Summoner_.

"What is he doing?" Varro leaned forward, trying to analyze the _Timber Wolf_'s movement.

"I believe he is taking advantage. Maybe we shall see one candidate achieve four kills today." Biccon answered coolly.

Deserk tried to move his mech away from the _Mad Dog_ when it dashed forward, but to no avail.

The massed ranks of SRM launchers burst in gouts of fire as 36 SRMs were launched towards the _Summoner_.

Round after SRM round hit the _Summoner_, tossing Deserk around in his cockpit like a rag doll with the impacts. His head rang incessantly with SRM hits on the mech's cockpit, and by the time the fourth missile hit, he knew no more.

The _Timber Wolf_ sprinted in its trademark half leaping, half prowling style towards the duel about to be concluded. Descartin hoped he would get there in time.

Since a melee had been initiated, he could interfere in the other duel without any loss of honor. It was truly a lucky break.

He was not so sure his mech could stand up to much more punishment, though. The _Dire Wolf_ had stood and slugged it out with him, pitting its formidable armor against his mobility. In the end, Des had inflicted more damage, but it still did not close the protection gap.

The _Timber Wolf_'s torso was stripped bare of armor, on both the front _and_ the back. The legs had some semblance of armor left, while the arms are almost barren of ferro-fibrous material.

Des saw the _Mad Dog_ about to deliver the coup de grace to the unmoving _Summoner_, moving in and aiming its PPC at the head. The mechwarrior quickly leveled his own PPCs and fired.

Both shots missed, but they did pass by the forward leaning portion of the _Mad Dog_, causing it to draw up short in surprise. The _Mad Dog_ quickly twisted its torso around, and fired its cluster autocannon.

Des braced himself consciously for the hit, the damage screen tracing out new red areas on the profile of the _Timber Wolf_ as the mech shuddered with the impacts.

The _Timber Wolf_ shook off the hits, and dashed into range of Des's medium lasers, firing them for the first time in the battle. The _Mad Dog_ was pummeled by at least three hits, but was still more than capable of dealing extreme harm on the _Timber Wolf_.

Meanwhile, Des could see the _Dire Wolf_ chasing him doggedly, intent on finishing _their_ battle. Not that Des had any intention to abandon that duel, but he had other things on his mind.

Conscious of the risk he was taking, Des slipped his _Timber Wolf_ between the _Mad Dog_ and Deserk's still unmoving _Summoner_. He mixed his weapons this time, configuring his quaternary TIC on the fly to enable him to fire one PPC and three medium lasers in one sequence.

Des had never expected to get into a situation where he would need both the striking power of a PPC and the tandem shot effect of the medium lasers. Configuring his TIC during the battle itself would take some time, time which he desperately needed if he was to defeat the _Mad Dog_ before the _Dire Wolf_ got within range of its own heavy array of guns.

It was simply a brutal slugging match between the _Mad Dog_ and the _Timber Wolf _now, a matter of who would get in the more telling hit as they stood and blasted away. There were no thoughts of evading, no flinching from the fire.

For twenty long seconds they pitted their firepower at each other, the _Mad Dog _forgoing the use of its SRMs by refusing to close in and allow the _Timber Wolf_ a highly advantageous alpha strike with its full energy complement, while Des on his part was more than wary of exposing his mech to the devastating SRM salvos.

He kept a part of his attention on his rear screens, however, waiting for the any motion on the part of the _Summoner_.

This time, the weight of fire favored the _Timber Wolf_, but one arm was soon shot away by the _Mad Dog_'s own PPC.

Des got back by blowing away one entire torso of the _Mad Dog_, which severely hampered its ability to fight back, especially with the loss of the PPC.

Then the _Dire Wolf_ finally managed to crest the last hill, and as his alarms started blaring with warnings of massed target locks, Des saw the _Summoner_ stir with a twitch of its arms.

_All or nothing now! This should do it! _He decided as he fired his primary TIC, seeking to put down the _Mad Dog_ once and for all. PPCs and medium lasers stabbed out towards the _Mad Dog_, puncturing into its various locations and more importantly, cutting apart the engine shielding of the omnimechs.

That was the last thing he did when the shape of the _Dire Wolf_ spewed out a wave of destruction, just after a salvo of laser bursts spat out from the _Summoner_ behind him.

He felt the _Summoner_'s lasers hit first, but he knew he had already attained the rank of Star Captain when the _Mad Dog_ exploded in a gout of fusion flame as its engine went critical. Star Captain Descartin grasped his seat's ejection handle, and pulled hard.

Deserk came to groggily in his cockpit, his head lying on the half-shattered controls. He looked up into the HUD through bleary eyes to see the vague shape of a mech with its rear facing him.

_I want to be a warrior. I have to be a warrior!_ It was an opportunity. He urged his shaking hands to grip the firing studs, only to discover that his LRM launcher was destroyed, leaving only his lasers and Streak SRM pack.

_They should be sufficient_, his befuddled mind told him as he fired them at the mech. The shape of the mech collapsed, and an ejection seat could be seen flying away from the shattered hulk.

A full second passed before he realized that the mech was Descartin's _Timber Wolf_.

"Freebirth!" He muttered before he recovered enough to pull on his own ejection handle as the _Dire Wolf_ turned toward shim, with all its prodigious firepower.

He wondered how much time he would have to enjoy being a warrior before Descartin killed him.

It was shamefaced Deserk who accepted the daggerstar designation of a mechwarrior from Varro Drummond in a short and perfunctory ceremony in the mechbay of the base. The entire sibko was there, celebrating as they had achieved the impossible.

_Full graduation for an entire testing cohort._

Never had such a feat been accomplished, and as usual, the attention was all on Descartin for his three kills, and probably four, or even five if he had not lost his senses and gone for a slugging match with the _Mad Dog_. Star Commander Jovre was haranguing him for his uncharacteristic lack of tactical sense, Warrior Lintya was trying to defend a bemused Descartin from Jovre's scathing analysis, while Star Commander Petra was excitedly describing her own Trial to Warrior Ori.

Deserk was too ashamed to face Descartin, and there was more than a bit of fear that Des would kill him for betraying the implicit trust between sibkin.

Then Descartin walked towards him with a what seemed to be a sinister smile on his face, and Deserk felt his stomach tighten up with fear.

"Listen to me! It was a simple mistake! I did not mean it!" Deserk shouted in defense, holding up his hands to ward off the anticipatory blow from Des.

He was more than a bit confused when Des burst out laughing.

"Of course I knew you were going to fire! That is why I showed you my rear in the first place!" Des said with a huge grin.

"Huh?"

"I was less than confident of defeating the _Dire Wolf_, so instead I decided to take advantage by destroying your opponent, the _Mad Dog_."

That did not sound right to Deserk. He suddenly realized what Des was doing in the battle ROMs when the _Mad Dog_ had been about to finish him off, in a flash of inspiration.

"You actually saved my life, and my career, by taking out the _Mad Dog_!" Deserk exclaimed. "Do not deny it. You were not doing it for yourself, but for _me_. What ever possessed you to do that?"

Des sighed, "I just want everybody to get through. It was not completely altruistic, as I have said, since the _Mad Dog_ _was_ a easier opponent than the _Dire Wolf_."

"But you could have finished me off first, then concentrated on the _Mad Dog _without having to stand in place. You could have ended up with four kills, and maybe five by destroying the _Dire Wolf_!"

"Maybe, but I do not think that is important." Des's eyes blazed with conviction. "Killing four mechs might win me a high position, maybe a Star Colonelcy. But that would have left the clan short of one capable warrior." He looked at Deserk.

Deserk shook his head. "Capable? I could not even defeat a _Mad Dog_ in a heavier mech!"

"Pure bad luck. Anyone who saw the record would have agreed with me. None of that was your fault. In fact, if you had not done enough damage to the _Mad Dog_, I would not have had the third kill either."

"But your chance to make legend…"

"Warrior Deserk is right, Star Captain." A voice suddenly broke in from the side. The two warriors turned to see Oathmaster Biccon Winters.

"Oathmaster." They greeted her by bowing their heads slightly.

She continued. "I had just received word from Khan Severen Leroux that Natasha Kerensky of Clan Wolf had just killed four mechs in her Trial of Position. If only you had done the same, we would be able to claim that their bloodnamed warrior is only the equal of one of our cadets."

Descartin bowed again in apology. "I am sorry for failing the clan."

Biccon's mouth twitched at the sides. "You have not failed, although some may certainly see it as such. But you sacrificed your chance at greater glory for your sibkin to progress, and that is a rare trait indeed."

Deserk and Des looked at each other. Des admitted, "I thought it would be for the greater good of the clan."

"If only more warriors thought that way." Biccon commented dryly. "In any case, I suppose I might as well give you your new assignments now, since you are both going to the same unit."

"Star Captain Descartin,, Warrior Deserk," both men straightened their shoulders to stand at attention, "you have both been assigned to the 449th Assault Cluster, Alpha Galaxy, under the command of Star Colonel Thadeus Nostra. You will report to him tomorrow morning at 1100 hrs at Vision Seeker Base."

"Aff, Oathmaster." They answered in unison. There were hints of happiness on their faces, since they both knew Alpha Galaxy was the cream of the clan's touman, and will surely participate in the return to the Inner Sphere.

"Good. Meanwhile, enjoy your last night here. I doubt you will ever come back here again."

"Aff." They answered again as she walked off.

"So what now? We have a whole night to relax, quiaff?" Deserk asked.

"Aff, but let us go look for our vineers first." Descartin smiled. "Of course, you can have a piece of my _Timber Wolf_, or what is left of it!"

To which an exasperated Deserk could only sigh. He had a feeling Descartin would be needling him about this affair for a long, long time.

Sorry for taking so long! Some other projects in progress, and uh… some projects that I cannot put up here because of certain… restrictions.

Ahem… Anyway, I would like to extend an invitation(again!) to all the writers here to join the egroup that I've set up at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/BT_Fanfic.

Questions about in-universe facts, mech specs etc can all be asked there!


	8. Learning Curve

_Ways Of Seeing Training Facility, Barcella,_

_Kerensky Cluster,_

_22nd July 3051_

"Well, Star Captain, enjoy your last sight of this place." Varro Drummond commented as Descartin slung his duffel bag over a shoulder. "I doubt you will live long enough to be solahma."

"Like you?" Des remarked. They were standing at entrance of the building that housed the offices of the trainers and the academic classrooms. Almost all the personnel who had helped shaped the raw cadets into qualified warriors were gathered there. In a short while, the young warriors would be picked up by vehicles and sent to their new postings.

"Aff, like me." Varro sighed. "You are young. You think yourself invincible, that you are ageless, that you will live forever. Then you will grow old, your body will start to fail you, and you will ask yourself, 'What have I done of any worth?'" Varro looked at Des, his eyes piercing. "I have asked myself this very question, and found my answer wanting. This is my very last lesson to you. Do not hold back, even if it means your death, for you do not want to look back and curse yourself for not giving your all."

"Ah, Commander," Troussier walked up, "do not discourage them! Their fire and youth will be what our clan needs for the crusade ahead! Do not extinguish it so quickly."

"On the contrary, Troussier, I _am_ urging them to use their enthusiasm before it fades away."

"I do not quite understand, sir." Des shook his head. "We fight where we are ordered to, and giving our all is our duty, quiaff?"

"Aff, but saying that you will give your best effort and actually _doing _so, are two very different things." Varro glanced at a dust cloud in the distance, probably sent up by the approaching fleet of hovercraft. "In any case, I have little doubt that you will serve the clan well."

Des nodded his head. He heard the thin whine of hovercraft engines as they came to a stop in front of the building. Each hovercraft was quite small, able to seat only four people each, but they were enough for the purpose at hand.

Varro spoke loudly so that all the departing warriors could hear him. "Yesterday you all have proved yourselves worthy of the position of warrior! Today, today is the first day of the rest of your lives! I know that you are eager to attain glory for yourselves, and I am confident that you will do so in the best traditions of the clan."

"Seyla!" The cadets intoned solemnly.

"Well, we should be on our way." Descartin moved towards a nearby hovercar, before he paused as he thought of something. He turned back towards Varro.

"Sir, about the vision I had…"

Varro shook his head. "They will be revealed in due time. Patience. Now go, you unit is waiting."

The old warrior already suspected what the vision meant, but he also knew that revealing the meaning too early might not be good, thereby foiling the vision quest.

_If it is even a vision quest_, Varro told himself as he watched Descartin throw his bag into the boot of the car. _A vision quest that will likely last a lifetime. Is he ready for the trials that lie ahead?_

The warriors climbed into the cars, and soon were just specks in the distance. Varro stared after them for long moments, before he walked back into the building along with the rest of his staff, ready to begin another day of training for the other sibkos.

Descartin looked around curiously as he got out of the hovercar at the Vision Seeker Base. The sound of technician caste members working on mechs filled the bay, and he savored the sight of rows of mighty omnimechs sitting in their repair racks.

Vision Seeker Base was a large facility, capable of housing two entire Galaxies within its cavernous bays. It loomed over the landscape, a typical military installation much like any other, surrounded by fences and barbwire.

The hovercar had to pass through a security checkpoint before it was able to enter the base proper, and its freebirth tech driver was obviously well acquainted with the layout of the base as he turned and twisted through the streets to arrive at the area designated for the 449th Assault Cluster, Alpha Galaxy.

An elemental walked up to him and Deserk, and the two new warriors saluted in unison as they saw the insignia of a Star Captain on the elemental's tight fitting jumpsuit.

"Greetings, Star Captain Descartin, Warrior Deserk. I am Star Captain Hendrick West, commander of Second Assault Trinary. I trust you had no problems reaching the base?"

"Neg, no problems, Star Captain," Des, as the higher ranking warrior, answered for them both. "I see the techs are hard at work on our mechs. What are we being assigned to?"

Hendrick started to walk off, gesturing to the two warriors to follow him. "The Star Colonel wants to see you first, Star Captain Descartin, before making a decision, but Warrior Deserk is already assigned to a _Mad Dog_ in Third Assault Trinary."

Des saw Deserk grin fiercely for an instant, before his expression slid back into the studied calm of a Nova Cat warrior.

They were led by the Star Captain to a room. There were two beds there, and some minimal furnishings, but to the newly graduated warriors, it already looked far more inviting than their old bunks back in their sibko days. "You can put down your belongings here. This is just a temporary room for the two of you, since we will be leaving soon for the Inner Sphere." Hendrick's eyes glowed with joy as he spoke, probably already thinking of glory to be earned in the Inner Sphere. "Warrior Deserk, please stay here for a moment. Your Star Commander will see you here. Star Captain Descartin, please follow me to see Star Colonel Nostra."

Descartin threw his bag carelessly onto a bed, regretted it for a moment since it contained most of his precious holovids, then left the room with Hendrick. "Deserk, watch my stuff for me." Deserk nodded, along with a wink. As warriors, they could finally play the holovids in the open, especially Des with his officer rank.

It was a long walk through the base and an elevator ride before Des finally arrived at Star Colonel Thadeus Nostra's office. Hendrick showed him through the door, then closed it as Des stood before Nostra's desk.

Thadeus Nostra looked like the average clan mechwarrior, muscular and tall, but the strength of his presence permeated the room, leaving no doubt as to the power he wielded as a Star Colonel in one of the clan's most prestigious units.

"Star Captain Descartin reporting as ordered, Sir." Des came to rigid attention, staring straight at his superior officer.

"At ease, Star Captain. Please have a seat," Thadeus gestured to a seat. Des obediently sat down. "First of all, welcome to the 449th Assault Cluster. As you no doubt know, we will be leaving in a few days, to take part in Operation Revival. The ilKhan has activated our clan, and we have been assigned to the Draconis Combine corridor, beside the Smoke Jaguars."

Thadeus gave Des a nasty chuckle. "Aff, the ilKhan is clever. As a Warden, he no doubt wants the Crusaders cut down to size, and our activation is a veiled insult to the Jaguars. While I am as happy as any Nova Cat at the Jaguars' humiliation, the fact that _we_ are the ones activated means possible problems in the future."

Des was silent for a while, before he asked, "What sort of problems?"

"Supply lines, for one. Trials of Possession for our holdings in the Inner Sphere, for another. And contested trials for target worlds in the corridor. The Jaguars have no love for us, nor us for them. We will likely be fighting each other as much as the Inner Sphere along the way. Which brings us to our return to the Inner Sphere, and your role in it."

Des sat up straighter in his chair as he focused his attention on the Star Colonel's words.

"You will be assigned to command Third Assault Trinary, which has an empty command slot because the previous commander has tested up to Star Colonel. Your assignment to a frontline unit immediately after your Trial of Position is uncommon, since most warriors are sent to second line units first to get a handle on advanced tactics and the like. However, it was Oathmaster Biccon Winter's strong suggestion that sent you here, since she is confident that you will be able to fit in quickly."

Something that Thadeus did not mention was the rapid expansion of the clan touman, which left large gaps in the ranks of the frontline units as worthy warriors tested out to become officers in other units. Therefore, while frontline units like Alpha Galaxy and Sigma Galaxy still had a strong and experienced officer corps, the ability of the average warrior had actually fallen a bit, as well as the unit's ability as a whole. Des decided that there was nothing to be gained from mentioning this factoid, so he kept quiet about it.

"I am honored by the clan's trust, and I will strive to the best of my ability." Des said with pride.

"Good. But in order to acclimatize you as quickly as possible, I will be assigning Star Captain Oasic Carns as your mentor, to teach you as much as possible of combat tactics before your first battle."

Des tried not to look insulted, but he did manage to work out a protest, "Sir, I am fully acquainted with battlemech tactics…" Thadeus cut him off with a slice of his hand.

"What you learnt in the sibko is the barest fraction of what a frontline officer is expected to know. Such knowledge often takes a few years to learn, through practice and combat, and now you expect me to trust a warrior just out of his sibko to possess such information? No, you will do this _my_ way, and trust me, you will be all the better for it in the end."

Des looked at Thadeus for a moment, thinking furiously, but in the end he conceded inwardly that the Star Colonel was probably correct.

"So what do I do next?"

"You will follow Star Captain Hendrick as he shows you around the base, then you will meet the rest of your Trinary. I've assigned an experienced Star Commander to act as your Executive Officer, Star Commander Jeff. He is a bit old, but he has been with the cluster for a long time, so make use of him. I have also taken the liberty of scheduling a live-fire training session for your trinary this very evening, with Star Captain Oasic and his First Assault Trinary being your opponents."

Des blanched at the news. He had not even met his new command yet, and now this Star Colonel wants him to lead them into a training battle? Des started to shift slightly in his seat. _Time, time, I need time!_ Des yelled in his mind.

His reaction did not go unnoticed by Thadeus. "That will be all for the moment. Dismissed."

Des shot up from his seat, and he remembered in time to salute the Star Colonel before dashing out of the office.

"Nova Two-One, mind that _stravag_ left flank!" Descartin yelled as he fired another stream of particle beams at the _Warhawk_ that was leading a charge of four other assault mechs against his command star. The sweltering heat in his cockpit jumped just that little bit higher, while the fans tried vainly to sweep the heat away.

It had been a hectic afternoon, as he had been sent on a virtual crash course in command. The initial meeting with his new trinary had gone well, but Des had the distinct feeling that Star Commander Jeff was doing most of the talking for him, and he had felt a bit uncomfortable dealing with the battle hardened and experienced warriors of his new trinary. In fact, he felt like a fraud.

That Deserk was a member of his new trinary helped, but not by much, since he was apparently as overwhelmed as Descartin.

Then after the meeting had been a short tutorial session with Jeff, as the mechwarrior instructed Des on the duties and responsibilities of a Star Captain. _If I had known there would be so much paperwork, I would have avoided the third kill! _Des grumbled as he had pored over the lists of equipment acquisitions and technician rosters.

Then he had been dragged out of the office for the training exercise, and it was like going from the frying pan to the fire.

His Trinary was classified an assault unit, along with much of the cluster. Accordingly, heavy and assault mechs, along with a few mediums, made up his Trinary.

His command star consisted of his _Timber Wolf_, two _Mad Dogs_, a _Stormcrow_, and an _Ice Ferret_. No match for the five assault mechs bearing down on them. Des knew placing his relatively lightweight star to hold the line was a mistake, and that he was going to pay for it.

But not without extracting a high price first.

Deserk's _Mad Dog _fired its entire arsenal of short range streak racks and pulse lasers, showering his opponent, a _Gargoyle_,with a deluge of energy darts and missiles.

The _Gargoyle _replied with its own weapons, and Deserk's mech staggered backwards from the intense firepower.

Des was having his own problems. The _Warhawk_ he had matched up with was proving to be a stubborn foe, its heavy armor taking everything his _Timber Wolf _could dish out, and returning it with interest.

An autocannon roared, and Des felt the pinging impacts of shells on the lower half of his mech as he struggled to pull the distance from his opponent. All around him, his Star was fighting hard, but they were outmatched. The good thing was, his other two stars were faring better on the flanks. His opponent had obviously stripped away most of the assaults away from his other stars to concentrate on Des' command unit.

"Nova Three-One," Des shouted through his comms, once he saw on his tactical screen that the assault mechs of his Gamma Star had disposed of most of its opponents, "proceed to nav delta under ECM. Engage all opponents in range in," Des did a quick calculation, "thirty seconds."

Nav delta was almost directly behind the enemy star, and while the rules of zellbrigen forbid mechs from ganging up on their opponents, it did not state that mechs have to face another before they start to fight. At least not explicitly.

Two crashes to his left told Des that his _Stormcrow_ and _Ice Ferret_ were down, while Deserk and the other _Mad Dog_ piloted by Tenny were about to be pounded into scrap.

_All part of the plan, all part of the plan_, Des told himself as he jumped the _Timber Wolf _right into the middle of the First Assault Trinary. _I hope this works!_ Des resisted the urge to wipe away his sweat.

"I am down!" Deserk yelled out, followed scant seconds later by a similar report from Tenny.

Des continued to dance with the _Warhawk_, pushing his omnimech desperately to avoid his enemy's attacks while glancing every few seconds at the status of his Bravo Star, commanded by Star Commander Jeff, or Nova Two-One.

The readings were not too good. Bravo Star was winning, but just barely. Then his Gamma Star, which had been waiting at nav delta, engaged as per his instructions.

The assault mechs of his opponents were rocked back on their heels as Gamma Star attacked with waves of long range missiles. Des grinned, but only for an instant before he realized the _Warhawk _was about to blast him into pieces.

"Freebirth!" Des shouted as he fired one last salvo at the _Warhawk _as it tore his _Timber Wolf _apart. One of his PPC bolts managed to tear off an arm, which brought a smile to his lips, amidst the burning furnace in the cockpit.

His mech systems died around him as the _Timber Wolf _fell. Once the exercise was over, they would be restored as the techs deactivated the training programs. There was nothing he could do now but wait for the results.

"Not bad, Descartin, not bad at all." Oasic Carns, a grizzled veteran of many battles commented as a miserable Descartin sat in the mess hall swallowing his dinner while digesting his opponent's analysis of the battle at the same time. He wondered why Oasic was not eating, but had a fusionaire in front of him instead.

Oasic continued, with one cautious eye on his young charge. "Of course, you could have won if you had ordered Gamma to stay back and let your Bravo engage my mechs first. The fresh mechs of Gamma would then be able to take down my assault mechs after they had killed Bravo."

Des stabbed a fork grumpily into a piece of meat. Normally, he would be overjoyed to have such good food, but his mood had been spoilt by his defeat. He turned to Oasic. "All right, so how would you respond, if I had done as you suggested?"

Oasic smiled viciously, "I would have challenged your Gamma first, so in the end it would not matter what you did. I already had an eye on what was going on, despite your ECM. Did you think me stupid?" He glared at Des.

Des felt his insides shrivel a bit from the angry stare. "Neg." The potent fusionaire was probably affecting Oasic already.

"Good, because I do not think you are stupid either. Your biggest mistake is letting yourself get taken out so early in a fight. Because you went down, your trinary lost overall coordination. You could have _forced_ my challenge against Bravo. If anything, leaders must always be the _last _to go down."

"Huh? I thought we were supposed to lead from the front!" Des placed a chunk of food into his mouth.

"Aff, but if a commander goes down too early, who would then replace him? Yes, there are many warriors of the clan eager to step into his role, but such actions are, more often than not, disastrous during a battle." Oasic took a long drink from his fusionaire.

"So as a Star Captain, I must lead from the front, but also survive long enough to lead my men?"

"Aff, that is the gist of it. And that is why the rank of Star Captain is one of the most difficult. Star Colonels, despite their skill, are not required to lead from the front, and this applies even less to Galaxy Commanders and Khans. But Star Captains have to lead and survive at the same time, and that is no easy feat."

Des was deep in thought as he chewed his food. Then he asked, "What about zellbrigen? How does that affect our tactics?"

"Zellbrigen makes matters more difficult in terms of tactics, reducing everything to one on one duels. For example, your positioning of Gamma behind my assaults was a smart move, but because they cannot engage immediately, you have removed, even if only temporarily, almost forty percent of your firepower from the battle. That is not a good thing."

"And because of that, I lost."

"Aff. From what I have read of the reports from the Inner Sphere, I suspect that zellbrigen will work against us. We cannot expect our enemies to follow our rules, and we may have to disregard dueling if we are to succeed."

_27th July 3051_

"Boom! Boom!" The drums filled the air with a throbbing beat, sounding twenty times to signify the twenty clans created by Nicholas Kerensky.

A blazing bonfire burned furiously in the middle of the huge parade ground on Barcella, throwing up huge sparks of lighted ash into the air, its immense heat felt by every warrior present.

The entire touman of Clan Nova Cat was gathered there, for their monthly Chronicle of Battles. Once a month the warriors of the clan would gather, reading from their _Remembrance_ and regaling one another with tales of adventure and glory. It served to enhance the bonds between warriors, bringing them together and making them feel part of something larger than themselves.

Part of Clan Nova Cat.

This particular occasion, however, was more special than most. For they were finally returning to the Inner Sphere. And this night, they would be speaking of glory to come in the battle ahead.

Des had found himself with a group of equally young warriors, all laughing and eating merrily as they encircled the fire. All across the parade square, hundreds of warriors, big and small, lounged around the fire, taking its warmth for the cold night. The sounds of idle talk subsided as the drums sounded, signifying the start of the ceremony.

He glanced at the stage at one end of the fire, a raised platform just before the fire where the Khan himself would address the warriors of the clan once all twenty beats had been pounded on the drums.

Indeed, Khan Severen Leroux was slowly ascending the steps as the crowd chanted "Seyla". He stopped before the fire, and the crowd hushed in awed silence as they stared at the flames.

A nova cat, formed from flame, snarled in the bonfire. It turned around, its piercing eyes roaming around the entire assembly, as though trying to stare into the soul of every warrior present. Des could feel his own astonishment as it dropped down on its haunches before the Khan, then springing up into a soundless roar towards the stars, and then disappearing into the fire.

"Warriors of Clan Nova Cat!" Severen Leroux's strong and confident voice spoke. "I am Khan Severen Leroux, and leader of Clan Nova Cat, the strongest of Kerensky's children! Though I am bound to speak of past battles, past victories, I shall instead point our clan towards the Inner Sphere. Where our future lies."

Leroux took a deep breath. "Many years ago, our ancestors followed the Great Founder to Strana Mechty, where he promised them that one day, when the time is right, their descendents shall return to the Inner Sphere and restore the Star League. Since then, our clan has fought many battles. From the first early struggles to liberate the people of the Pentagon, to the betrayal of the Not-Named Clan, we have persevered. More importantly, we have gained strength, gained in power. Power that shall enable us to restore the Star League and return humanity to a golden age!"

"The battles that await us, no matter what you might think, will not be easy. I have seen the courage of the samurai of the Draconis Combine, and the intelligence of the defenders of the Federated Commonwealth. The people of the Free Rasalhague Republic are hardly broken by their losses and fight on even harder."

"But we are warriors as well. The descendents of the Star League Defense Force, the mightiest army in the history of man. We have never known failure, and we shall not greet it easily! Above all, the purity of our purpose, will drive us on towards success! This is the rede of the Khan of the Nova Cats, which we shall all abide until we all fall!"

"Seyla!" The entire touman of the clan shouted.

Another chapter up! Next, in about a week's time, I hope, will be the attack on Avon, and Yoshino Ihara. And after that, will be the climatic Battle of Luthien.

Of course, please review. Especially all you BT writers!


	9. Call Of Battle

_Warship _True Vision_,_

_Nadir Jump Point, Labrea System_

_Smoke Jaguar/Nova Cat Occupation Zone_

_2nd December, 3051_

"The Inner Sphere!" Deserk gestured grandly with his arms spread open as he stood facing the viewing window on the gravdeck of the _Congress_ class frigate. The view before him, at least momentarily before the rotating deck shifted the view away, was that of the star system of Labrea, the distant system primary a tiny beacon of light in the vastness of space. "I find it hard to imagine that it would be our generation that would finally return to these lands!"

He noticed a glum Descartin catch up with him on the running track. The rest of the trinary were all over the gravdeck, some of them running on the tracks, the others working out on the gym machines. It was physical training time, two hours in which they were to enjoy working out in the gravity provided by the gravdeck, a rotating ninety meter diameter ring around the hull of the warship, providing a semblance of gravity by centrifugation.

In the 31st century, humanity traveled the stars by means of the large Kearny-Fuchida jump drive, which allowed a vessel to travel up to thirty light years in an eye blink. Massive ships were constructed with such drives, but most of them contained only relatively small normal space maneuvering drives. These ships were named jumpships, since jumping from star system to star system was all that they could do.

However, certain ships were built with much more compact KF drives, which also allowed them to mount more powerful thrust engines for space combat. They often carry naval class weapons capable to destroying lesser ships in one salvo, and can even wipe an entire city off a world with sustained bombardment. They were called warships, for their sole purpose was war.

The _True Vision _was one such ship.

"I do not see why you have to be so happy about it." Descartin murmured as he jogged past Deserk.

Deserk heard that, and he ran up beside Descartin. "What, is there reason not to be happy? Or maybe the work is getting to you, quiaff?"

Descartin nodded, which was no surprise to Deserk. His sibkin had been under tremendous pressure since his appointment, and every day was either near impossible training runs drawn up by Star Colonel Nostra, or long sessions with Star Captain Oasic on tactics and command.

Still, Deserk had to admit that Descartin was holding up admirably. In their last training session in the simulators on the ship, the trinary had managed to fight the command supernova to a draw, which had drawn grudging praise from the Star Colonel. The greater effect though, was on the attitude of the other Star Captains towards Descartin, as they began to treat Descartin more like an equal, and less like a poor relation.

At first, poor Descartin was clearly overwhelmed by his role, and the other officers had treated him badly, like a freebirth upstart who did not deserve to be there. For example, their trinary was always the one assigned to menial tasks like long range patrols, extra-vehicular defense on the hull of the warship and the like, while the other trinaries got the more glorious duties. It had taken Descartin every bit of his control and discipline to refrain from challenging the other officers to a Trial of Grievance.

Despite that, Descartin was able to keep the morale of the trinary up, aided by Star Commander Jeff. Descartin had come up with the idea of a weekly dinner session together, where all the members of the trinary would sit, eat, and discuss the problems they have, as well as possible solutions. Thankfully, the members of the trinary were all determined and well-motivated, and they even understood Descartin's problems, and were willing to grant him the benefit of the doubt.

One effect of the dinner sessions had been closer relations between the warriors of the trinary, and as they jogged on the track, Deserk caught eye of Warrior Rossi, who was working out on a bench press. He did not bother to avert his gaze as he admired her firm and toned body.

"So, you have been coupling with Rossi." Descartin said without preamble as they continued to jog at a leisurely pace. "What is it like?"

"Well, why do you not try it yourself?" Deserk grinned. It was well known in the trinary, indeed, in the entire cluster, that Star Captain had never coupled before. There was a running bet as to when he would succumb to the temptation, and Deserk had already placed a sizable wager on the issue.

Descartin grunted in reply to the question. Deserk pressed on. "If you are so curious about it, then just do it! There is no shortage of willing partners. We are young and virile warriors, and coupling in our spare time is an accepted part of our lives. You are the only one who obsesses over mech readouts and battle ROMs of the engagements against the filthy freebirths of the Inner Sphere in his free time."

"Well, you have given my reasons for me, so there is little more I need to say." Descartin started to speed up his pace. "Race you to the finish!" He shouted to Deserk.

Deserk already knew what Descartin was up to, and he kept up with Descartin almost all the way to the finish line before his lungs gave out. He came in half a step behind Descartin.

"Not bad… for someone who stays… in his room… all day." Deserk wheezed out as he leaned over on a wall to catch his breath, his head resting on the ferroalloy. "I… still do not understand… why you insisted on jogging… when we should be building up our… muscular strength." Deserk panted, pulling in oxygen into his straining lungs.

Descartin picked up a towel from a nearby rack, and said as he wiped off the sweat in his face, "Endurance." He did not seem exhausted at all. "And you are tired because you talk too much." He threw a towel over to Deserk, who caught it easily.

After wiping off some of his own sweat, Deserk straightened himself, and started to stretch his legs. He had managed to get back enough of his breath that he could talk more normally. "Endurance? We are not going for marathon races, quineg?"

"Neg. But there _is_ a reason why I insist on everybody running at least 6 kilometers two times a week. And it has to do with the battles ahead."

"I do not see why you have to be so worried about our endurance. Odds are likely that we will wipe out the freebirths after just a few minutes of action. Our mechs and our weapons are far superior to anything they have."

Descartin shook his head and sighed heavily, as though exasperated at Deserk's reasoning. "Neg. You see the battle ROMs. You see the Jaguars have their way with the defending mechs when they are brought to battle. You see them tear apart the weak freebirth mechs with ease. What you fail to see is the time between each battle, the amount of maneuvering that was required for them to bring their forces to bear. And each battle is taking longer and longer to resolve, while the Inner Sphere warriors adapt their tactics for prolonged hide and seek battles."

Deserk shook his head, flinging droplets of sweat away from his hair with the motion. "Guerilla tactics can hardly stop us."

"Neg." Descartin agreed, as he copied Deserk's stretching actions. "But these tactics slow us down, and we will have to remain on alert for longer periods of time in order to react to their attacks. That means longer hours in the cockpit. We have to be ready when the time comes."

"Stop worrying so much!" Deserk chided. "You give the freebirths too much credit. Mark my words. We will steamroll them in the battles ahead."

Descartin shook his head ruefully, still unwilling to concede the point. "Better to be prepared than not."

"Ahhh, you are thinking of all this, because you aspire to high rank, quiaff?" Deserk asked. "Come on, admit it. All this hard work… Is it for your benefit or ours?"

"For everybody's. Deserk, I have a feeling about this campaign. It will likely change us for all time, in ways we cannot even begin to guess. We have to be prepared for the worst, lest we are swept away by events."

"I see you have been listening to the Oathmaster. Why do you persist in believing that disaster still lies ahead?"

Several months ago, Oathmaster Biccon Winters was said to have a vision, where she had predicted correctly that their clan would be activated long with Clans Steel Viper and Diamond Shark to take part in the return. She had further said that victories would not come easily, and that they would eventually succumb to defeat. What was more puzzling was that she claimed that Comstar, the one remaining fragment of the long lost Star League, would be the instrument of their downfall.

She had even attacked the military leader of Comstar, Anastasius Focht, when he had visited the _True Vision_. It had taken a Trial of Grievance by the saKhan to force her to accept Comstar's presence, as well as their help.

Deserk still did not know what to think of Comstar, but he was pretty sure that any organization willing to aid them in the restoration of the Star League was on their side. Comstar was basically what was left of the Star League's Ministry of Communications, which had spent the Succession Wars trying to keep humanity alive by using its hyper-pulse generators to maintain the communications network in the Inner Sphere, the nervous system of any interstellar civilization.

"It is not something I can explain." Descartin stopped his stretching, and started walking for the pull up bar, with the towel hanging around his neck. "Just a feeling, that is all, not even a vision."

Deserk followed to the bar, shaking his head. "Anyway, the command briefing in the evening should give us a clearer picture of what we are about to face. Beta Galaxy is already attacking Irece, if I am not mistaken, and we will be jumping tomorrow."

"Aff." Descartin reached up for the horizontal bar. "I can certainly hope for a target worthy of our skills."

_Ihara Family Estate, Avon System,_

_Pesht Military District, Draconis Combine_

Chu-i Yoshino Ihara knelt down solemnly in front of the table, smoothing out the wrinkles in his uniform as he did so. Across him sat a thin but wiry man in a black formal suit.

"_Konnichi-wa_, Chu-i," the man bowed deeply, "I am Agent Hyu Dong Ren from the ISF. I offer you my sincerest condolences for your recent loss."

Yoshino returned the bow. His eyes were frigid chips of ice when his head came up. "_Domo arigato_, Agent Hyu." The words and the look on his face were completely at odds with each other.

Agent Hyu wasn't fazed by Yoshino's anger. Or maybe he knew it wasn't directed at him. Not specifically, anyway. He got down immediately to business. "As you know, I am here to report on the deaths of your parents in the Periphery, on Multan. Apparently, they were there on a commercial trip. However, a pirate band took that exact same moment to attack the world. They attacked the local spaceport, and killed all the people there. Your parents were among those killed."

Yoshino glared. "Which pirate band was it?"

At this, the ISF agent seemed extremely reluctant, and he dragged out the words. "It was a new band… led by Vance Rezak, formerly of the DCMS. They call themselves the Band of the Damned."

Yoshino hissed in disbelief, his anger giving way. "_Iie_. That is impossible. I knew _Sho-sa _Rezak. He would never do such a thing."

Vance Rezak was one of the most honorable men Yoshino had ever known. He had even visited the family estates before, in his role as a important commander in the Pesht Military District, when Yoshino was just about to apply to the local garrison commander for sponsorship to the Sun-Zhang Mechwarrior Academy. Rezak had given him a lot of encouragement, and Yoshino had been greatly impressed by the attitude of the samurai mechwarrior.

"_Sho-sa _Rezak has forgotten his _giri _to the Dragon, and resorted to banditry to support his senseless vendetta against the Combine. His band is well armed, with at least the one _Overlord _dropship that transported his DCMS battalion, an _Invader_ jumpship that we suspect originally belonged to the bandits, and at least two companies of mechs with another company of armor support."

Yoshino was flabbergasted. "That much amount of hardware for a pirate band?"

"We are quite sure on this. But he is ronin, masterless, and we shall soon take care of him, the amount of mechs he has is irrelevant."

Yoshino was not convinced, but he really wanted a piece of the band. "Any reason why he decided to turn pirate?"

Hyu seemed a bit uncomfortable at the question. "We do not know. He was sent on a pirate hunting mission. The next thing we knew, he had become their leader."

Yoshino was sure there was more Hyu wasn't telling him, but he also knew better than to provoke an ISF officer. Mere Chu-is, even those who are minor nobles with substantial estates, do not question the authority of the Internal Security Force, guided by the beguiling smile and deceiving hand of Subhash Indrahar.

"Can I take a place on the unit assigned to hunt the pirates?" Agent Hyu was there not only to inform him of the circumstance of his parents' deaths, but also his next posting in the DCMS. It was highly irregular, but then again, irregular circumstances were the norm these days.

"_Iie_. You cannot."

The answer was succinct and to the point. It was also disappointing, but Yoshino had other methods at his disposal. "_So ka_? As one of the Sun-Zhang's top graduates, I think I can wrangle an assignment to the units on the Periphery."

Hyu shook his head slowly. "The pirates will have to wait. The clans are returning.

Yoshino blanched at the shocking news. "The clans are back?"

Everybody in the Inner Sphere had by now heard of the fearsome invaders from the depths of space, wielding mechs and technology beyond anything the Inner Sphere had possessed. The ones attacking the Dragon, who called themselves the Smoke Jaguars, were utterly vicious and without mercy in battle. They had even razed an entire city to the ground with orbital bombardment. Yoshino had seen the aftermath of their attack, from a smuggled holovid of the wreckage of Edo on Turtle Bay.

Almost a year before, the clans suddenly halted all their attacks, and simply settled for garrisoning their gains. Analysts had suggested that the successful Federated Commonwealth counterattack on Twycross and the Genyosha's defense of Wolcott had turned the tide of the campaign, but Yoshino found himself highly skeptical, since the clans still had more than enough troops to continue the campaign.

There were other reasons, and trying to find out those reasons was why Gunji-No-Kanrei Theodore Kurita had traveled with his family to Outreach, where Colonel Jaime Wolf of the mercenary unit Wolf Dragoons had called for a council of war. They had since returned to the Luthien, but the information they had obtained was still disseminating down the highly censored media of the Draconis Combine.

Hyu was dead serious as he spoke. "_Hai_. Reports have already come in of attacks on at least five worlds. I am not telling you anything you won't hear on the news tonight anyway. All units will be placed on alert. Because of the situation, there are no jumpships available to transport you to the your original posting of the 5th Sun Zhang Cadre on Altona. You will instead report to _Tai-sa_ Vrock of the 2nd Amphigean Light Assault Group tonight for your new posting."

"Tonight? I still need to settle some matters."

"_Shikata ga nai_. The situation is quite urgent, and we need every loyal son of the dragon squared away as soon as possible." Hyu shrugged. "You will have all the time on-world, in your time off duty."

_But the 2nd Amphigean LAG?_ Yoshino knew as well as any other officer of the DCMS that the Amphigean LAGs were descended from the Chain Gangs of mad Jinjiro Kurita's reign, where he simply grabbed convicts from prisons and sent them into battle with rudimentary training. All members of the units were considered expendable and expected to further the goals of the Dragon at any cost, even their lives.

At first given the lightest mechs in the DCMS inventory and often the worst equipment, the Amphigean LAGs had since steadily improved their stock, but were still regarded poorly by the rest of the DCMS for their non-samurai mentality.

The "Light Assault Groups" moniker arose after the 2nd regiment destroyed an entire heavy Steiner regiment in a series of relentless and brutal hit-and-run attacks. Nobody ever accused Jinjiro Kurita of poor strategy, even in his insanity.

Normally, any graduate would have reacted vehemently to the news that he was assigned to one of the LAGs, but then again, these were unusual circumstances. Yoshino could protest, but he also knew his duty to his nation outweighed his honor. _Giri_ before _meiyo_. One of the basic tenets of bushido, the Way of the Samurai.

Such concepts had been drummed into him by his time in the Sun-Zhang Mechwarrior Academy on New Samarkand, one of the Inner Sphere's finest training centers. Four years of some of the harshest training for a soldier had hardened Yoshino. He had known too many classmates who had committed seppuku when they were forced to drop out. He considered himself lucky and blessed to have graduated intact in mind(mostly), body, and soul. But that bit of good karma had been balanced out by the shocking news of his parent's deaths when he had returned home for a furlough.

He had been looking to spending some time with his family, but that hope was gone now. The hearty laugh of his father, the soothing voice of his mother… all gone now. They were supposed to spend the rest of their lives in idyllic bliss, curse it! If anyone had to die, it should have been him, in glorious battle for his nation!

Yoshino felt a deep rage at the cruel hand fate had dealt him, but in this moment of crisis, everything else, even his own need for vengeance, had to take a back seat to the task of stopping the clans.

"Very well then, Agent Hyu. It looks like I have no choice but to do as you say." Yoshino allowed a thin edge to creep into his voice. "But one day I will have my revenge on the killer of my parents, and no one, not even the Coordinator himself, will stop me."

_Vance Rezak, we shall have a reckoning when that day comes… _Yoshino Ihara vowed to himself.

_Warship _True Vision_,_

_Nadir Jump Point, Labrea System_

_Smoke Jaguar/Nova Cat Occupation Zone_

Star Captain Descartin looked around him at the various officers of the clan in the lift. Many of them were elementals, which made for a very tight squeeze in the small space available. They clung to handholds at the sides of the lift in the absence of gravity.

There was Star Captain Santin West from the Nova Cat Lancers, Star Captain Denard Devereux from the 489th Assault, and Star Colonel Kelly Hardo of the 4th Nova Cat Guards. All bloodnamed warriors, all accomplished commanders.

As an unblooded warrior, Descartin felt more than a bit nervous in their presence.

Most of them had traveled over to the _True Vision_ in shuttles from their own transport jumpships and warships for this briefing. Tensions were running high on board the ship as personnel tried to guess at the extent of the briefing that would be carried out. Having so many high ranking officers in one spot certainly indicated that something big was up.

As they waited for the excruciatingly slow lift to reach the level for the briefing room, Santin West said to him, "You are Star Captain Descartin." It was not a question.

"Yes?" Descartin shuffled uneasily. Truth to tell, he was getting a bit weary of being tagged as a ristar, short for rising star, which brought with it a lot of pressure that he felt he could do without.

"I have heard good things about you from Star Colonel Nostra. He says you have great potential."

Descartin had heard such words many times before, and the weight on his shoulders seemed to get heavier every time he heard them.

"Star Colonel, what my superior officer says does not count for much until I show what I can do in real battle. I have not performed as well as the other officers in simulations."

"Ahh, but you did say that real battle is the only way to tell, quiaff? And so your true worth will only be revealed in battle, and not before."

Descartin nodded. That made sense. But he still had his doubts. "Do you have any idea of what this briefing is about?" There was a feeling of being pulled upwards, as the lift decelerated.

West shook his head. "Neg. However, I believe that our questions will soon be answered by the Khan." There was a chime, and the lift doors opened.

Kicking out against the walls of the lift with his legs, Descartin floated out into the corridor along with the other officers. They moved along the sides of the corridor, using the handholds to pull themselves along the passageway.

The briefing room was not far from the lift, and Descartin could see many other officers had already gathered in the room, perched around the various alcoves in the walls. A few were a bit disgruntled at the location of the briefing room, which was not located on the gravdeck, and thus necessitating the placement of alcoves and handholds for personnel to secure themselves during a briefing, instead of having them float about.

As they took up places near their respective commands, Descartin noticed that there was a woman in a white uniform standing near the holographic projector. She did not look like a clan warrior. Evidently, from the low buzz of conversation in the room, he was not the only one to have noticed this.

"Who is that?" Descartin asked Oasic Carns, gesturing to the woman in white.

Oasic grunted. "That is a Comstar precentor. She came with Khan Leroux from Courchevel."

Descartin was about to ask for more details when Khan Severen Leroux swam into the front of the room, followed by saKhan Lucian Carns.

All the warriors of the clan came to attention as best as they could in microgravity. "At ease." The Khan ordered.

Leroux nodded to the Comstar woman, who punched several keys on her console. A holographic projection of the interstellar map appeared, centered around their operational area. He gestured to the woman.

"This is Precentor Katrina Troth from Comstar. She will be assisting us in providing critical information about our next few objectives." The woman nodded silently in greeting to the Nova Cats.

"A few weeks ago," the Khan continued, "the Smoke Jaguars requested information on a particular target world from the ilKhan. They believed that by taking that one world, the warriors of the Draconis Combine would cease their resistance greatly."

A dull hubbub rose in the room. Descartin was interested as well. What world could possibly produce such an effect on their enemies by its fall?

"That target is Luthien." All conversation stopped immediately.

Descartin, like everybody else, was stunned by the news. Luthien, as the capital world of the Draconis Combine, will not be an easy world to conquer. The Black Pearl of the Inner Sphere would doubtless be defended to the death by the samurai of the Draconis Combine Mustered Soldiery.

Khan Leroux pointed to the holographic map with a finger, picking out Luthien. The world was magnified, showing the important cities of the world, as well as crucial geographical and system data beside it. "Yes, Luthien. However, to the disappointment of the Jaguars, the ilKhan has deemed it a target of such importance that it must be taken at all costs. Therefore, he has ordered that neither of our clans are allowed to bid for Luthien, and instead work together to capture it. It is worth that much."

Leroux gave another signal, and Troth pressed another button, which sent more information scrolling down. Descartin saw that it was information on the world's defenses.

"With Comstar's help, we are able to know the exact composition of the DCMS defenses. They currently have 4 frontline regiments there in the form of the 1st Sword of Light, the Second Legion of Vega, and the 1st and 2nd Genyosha. As many of you know, it was the Genyosha that defeated the Smoke Jaguars on Wolcott. They are foes to be respected."

"In addition, they have one political regiment in the form of the Otomo, the Coordinator's bodyguard regiment. This gives them a total of 5 elite units, in addition to whatever they can scrape up from their militia reserves, to oppose us. Accordingly, we will attack with a total of 5 Galaxies, three from the Smoke Jaguars, and two from us. Obviously, as you can all see for our side, Alpha and Delta have been chosen for this glorious task. I think the Jaguars needed to field three galaxies to match our two, judging from their pathetic performance earlier." The room erupted with laughter at the jibe.

The image of Luthien shrank back into the map. "In order to carry out the assault, we must first establish a base nearby for logistical reasons. Avon is deemed the best choice." The image of Avon appeared. To Descartin, it appeared lightly defended for a world so close to Luthien.

"First of all, we must get there first. In order to achieve maximum surprise, we shall travel through uninhabited systems. We shall jump into the DC-3405 system, recharge our jumpship batteries, then make a double jump to the Avon system."

"Opposing forces consist of the 2nd Amphigean Light Assault Group. It is a light regiment, but rated as a veteran unit. It will not be easy to corral them if they decide to use dezgra tactics." Descartin agreed with the Khan's assessment, unlike many of his fellow warriors, who scoffed at the thought of freebirths in light mechs posing any problem for them.

"The ilKhan has ordered that we cooperate with the Jaguars to take the world. Therefore, I will have one cluster each from Alpha and Delta Galaxies in the attack. Are there any questions before I commence bidding?"

There was a long silence as the officers looked hard at the data on Avon. Descartin noted the expansive plains on the world, with little forest cover, along with relatively 50% surface water coverage. He also realized that the 2nd Amphigean did not have any aerospace cover at all. In addition to the stated mech regiment, there were also two regiments of militia infantry, barely worthy of mention. A mere Star of Omnimechs with anti-personnel weapons would be able wipe them out in minutes, not to mention the superiority of their elemental armored infantry if it ever came to a grunt fight.

The Khan looked around, and as the various officers leaned back into their alcoves, signifying that they have ended their assessments of the level of resistance, he spoke again.

"Trothkin, hear me. I hereby open bidding for the conquest of Avon, against the 2nd Amphigean LAG, freebirth warriors all. The result of battles are decided by courage and steel, but in the end are still subject to the unknown fates, revealed to us by our visions. May your bids reveal your insight into the future, and may you achieve glory in bloodying your foes."

Clan combat was a highly ritualized affair. In any action, sub-commanders will bid for the right to have their forces participate in the battle, as well as command responsibility, with the lowest bid being accepted. This method not only reduces the waste of warriors, but also forces each commander to the edge of their tactical ability to achieve victory.

Organization charts of the two galaxies appeared in the holobox, detailing each unit down to its respective stars.

"Each galaxy shall contribute one cluster. Galaxy Commanders, you shall judge the bidding by your Star Colonels. Bidding starts at one full cluster. The cutdown is two trinaries." Cutdown referred to the minimum amount of troops needed to win an objective during bidding.

_So Star Colonel Nostra will be bidding for this_, Descartin thought. _Hmmm… what are my chances?_

Star Colonel Kothinur Gitras started first. His bid was conservative, with four trinaries. Star Colonel Thadeus Nostra was next, bidding three trinaries. Descartin looked at his communicator, which still showed a green light, indicating that his trinary was still in the bid.

Star Colonel Evelyn Morris calmly shaved off two stars of elementals, leaving her with one trinary of mechs, one of fighters, and one star of elementals.

Gitras did not seem too dismayed as he went all the way to the cutdown, bidding a trinary of mechs and one of elementals. Nostra seemed to glow with pleasure, as he went _below_ the cutdown, with only three stars of mechs, a star of fighters, and a star of elementals.

The room exploded in shock at the audacious bid. Descartin could hardly believe it himself as he realized that his trinary provided two of the mech stars, pared down to two stars, with Star Commander Sazur's Gamma Star removed from the bid. The remaining mech star was from one of the novas from Command Supernova, presumably Star Colonel Nostra's command nova, and the elemental star.

The other two Star Colonels shook their heads, leaving the battle to Nostra. Descartin was slightly shell shocked as he looked around the room, with the other Star Captains staring at him.

_Why me?_ He wondered. Maybe he was chosen because there was no other way to lower the bid other than to bid in a green commander in place of an experienced one.

"Well bargained and done, Star Colonel," Khan Leroux said as he congratulated Thadeus. "An interesting bid, and I approve of your plan." He turned towards Descartin, who was still trying to grasp the extent of his predicament. "Star Captain, your superior officer has honored you with this bid. I hope you are worthy of it."

Descartin gulped audibly. "I will not fail the clan, my Khan." _Why does this sort of thing have to happen to me?_

He certainly did not want to be the first Nova Cat to lose a battle with the Inner Sphere.

Whew, here's one more update for ATSOS. Next up obviously, will be fast and furious action on Avon, as Yoshino Ihara and Descartin go head to head in a no-holds-barred, winner-take-all bloodbath.

For those readers who are not satisfied with the amount of action, I can only point to Stackpole, Coleman, and Charrette, and say that I'm trying to emulate their style. Battletech may be about huge mechs fighting, but all that is useless without a backdrop of politics, betrayal, and strife. All that is only hinted at in the fic, but those who already know how things will turn out are probably laughing in anticipation. I also poked in a few guest stars. Just for fun.

I even had to email Warner Doles concerning some mistakes that I spotted for the writeups of the Nova Cats in the various sourcebooks. He was kind enough to tell me exactly what was going on, as well as the reorganization of the Nova Cats after 3052.

I'm also keeping in mind that my readers might not be familiar with Battletech, which is why I'm squeezing all that extra info about warships, FTL travel, bidding etc into the chapters. If you guys still aren't happy, then maybe you can stick to predominantly combat fics like JA Baker's Ballard of Cairo(good stuff too, even if the language has a few problems).

One more thing, with the recent popularity of MechAssault and Mechwarrior 4: Mercs, not to mention Mechwarrior: Darkage, it is very likely that there will soon be a whole lot of fanfic writers coming here with their uh… less than informed knowledge of Battletech showing in their stories. So I'm advocating patience and understanding in case one of them blunders in(oh wait, they already did). Try not to be too harsh with your reviews, huh? This is the unofficial Loremaster talking to the old mechheads around. ^_^

I know, I know, this applies especially to me. As for the recent spate of new fiction, I can only ask ALL of you to write in reviews for these authors! Hey, everybody needs encouragement!! And if you review somebody's fic, chances are good that he'll do the same for you. Ain't that great?!?

Oops, that reminds me. Please review this chapter! :D


	10. Baptism In A Nova

_Pollit Plains, Gaffin Continent,_

_Avon, Pesht Military District,_

_Draconis Combine,_

_12th December, 3051_

"Drop!" Descartin shouted to the rest of his temporary binary as his _Timber Wolf_ leaped out of the dropship into the hail of flak from the ground units opposing their drop. His mech was buffeted by the near misses and minor hits from the exploding shards, but a quick look at his armor readout showed that none of the flak damaging his armor.

All around him was pandemonium as the Nova Cats executed their favored combat entry, the hover drop maneuver. The dropships, normally responsible for transporting mechs to a planetary surface, did not land in such situations, instead going to the lower atmosphere before disgorging their deadly cargo.

For their part, those mechs that do not have integral jump jets were equipped with disposable jump packs, allowing them to land safely without ending up as a splattered wreck on the ground. Those mechs configured with jump jets, like Descartin's _Timber Wolf_, were more than capable of slowing their descent on their own.

The Nova Cats had perfected the technique to the extent that they were able to return ground-to-air fire while still in midair. Apparently, the defenders did not know of this.

Descartin's mouth twisted into a feral snarl as he targeted a _Partisan_ tank throwing up a wall of autocannon fire. His PPCs blazed two lightning trails into the tank's turret, destroying all the autocannons mounted there. The tank exploded as a runaway arc of electrons set off its ammunition stores, scattering metal shards in all directions. Two of its fellow tanks rocked under the impact of the blast, then veered away before his _Timber Wolf _could land and get under their autocannon range.

The skies were not just occupied by dropping Nova Cat units and their dropships. The star of fighters accompanying them were locked in a furious dogfight with the small local jet fighter contingent, though the outcome of that battle was hardly in doubt, with the smoking wreckage of one jet after another dropping from the sky, unable to match the clan omnifighters in either armor or weaponry.

The ground below seemed like a scene from the holovids he had of hell, obscured by clouds of black smoke and fires burning all over the place from missed missile flights, and of course the burning wreckage of the destroyed vehicles that had gathered to oppose their drop.

Descartin did a quick count of the forces arrayed below, and he noted that there was only a company of mechs present. But there was a full battalion of tanks with them. The operative word being _was_. That battalion was all destroyed by the accurate shooting of the Cats as they dropped down, even before they had landed. Only the company of mechs was still standing.

_Mere cannon fodder,_ Descartin shook his head slightly as he looked at the piles of wreckage that were once formidable weapons of war. As good as they were, they were no match for clan skill and technology. The mechs would be harder to defeat, but he knew they were already dead if they chose to stand and fight it out with the heavy mechs of his binary.

"Star Captain, watch the left flank!" Star Colonel Thadeus Nostra barked into his ear.

"Aff!" Descartin saw the ground approaching rapidly, and he gave one last burst of thrust from his jump jets to kill his speed, before the _Timber Wolf _slammed into the ground, the chicken legs flexing to absorb the enormous impact to avoid damage to the interior endo-steel bone.

He swung the mech's torso to the left, picking up a _Wolverine-6K_ firing its laser array at Jeff's _Warhawk_. "The _Wolverine_ is mine!" Descartin warned the others as he fired his PPCs at it. "The rest of you, pick a target and stick with it!"

One PPC passed harmlessly between the legs of the _Wolverine_, but the other tore into the torso, ripping a jagged scar across the sloping chest of the bulky mech. The mech turned to oppose Descartin's advance.

Descartin stomped on his pedals, lifting the _Timber Wolf_ towards the _Wolverine_ on jets of flame. He fired his entire battery of medium lasers at the apex of his flight, even as the _Wolverine_ replied with its own weapons while backpedaling.

The space between the two machines was filled with glaring lines of blinding light. Descartin barely noticed a large laser hit on his right arm as half his own lasers pounded the _Wolverine _mercilessly, sending rivulets of molten alloy flowing down from the battered Combine mech. The _Wolverine_ staggered, but continued pulling back.

The _Timber Wolf_ slammed into the ground, and Descartin continued moving forward even as the _Wolverine_ tried to pull back, intent on skewering the hapless medium mech. He kept an eye on the rest of the _Wolverine_'s companions, but they were being ripped apart by the sheer firepower of his binary. He could see, however, that the Combine company was trying to gang up on his mechs, but it was not very successful as his units maneuvered to keep the range open.

Then he suddenly realized he was stuck between the _Wolverine_ and the other mechs. _Move it!_ His senses screamed at him.

He flung the _Timber Wolf_ to his right almost on instinct as the mech rocked from several missile hits on its rear, unstopped by his anti-missile system. A storm of laser blasts passed to his left, through the space he had just vacated. Descartin glanced at the rear view display to confirm his hunch. There were five mechs behind him, two _Jenners_, an _Assassin_, a _Panther_, and a _Phoenix Hawk_, all being pummeled by his starmates, but apparently more than willing to take down his _Timber Wolf_ in exchange for their mechs.

To Descartin, it was hardly a fair swap. He turned quickly to his left, while pulling his throttle all the way back to reverse the mech. He kept his  PPCs trained on the _Wolverine_, which was now advancing fearlessly into his line of his particle cannon barrels. _Hurry up_, he urged the capacitors for the PPCs to recharge.

"Take down those mechs, now!" Descartin shouted to his units, not bothering to acknowledge the responses to his command, concentrating on moving out of the crisscrossing enemy fire pattern of laser blasts and missile salvos. He mostly succeeded, but he still lost quite a lot of vital armor over the left side of his mech.

"Die, clanner!" The words came over the open frequency as the _Panther_ unleashed an aimed PPC bolt at his mech. Descartin winced away from his HUD as the electron beam played over his cockpit for the briefest of instants.

Some of the cockpit glass shattered under the intense heat of the particle beam, the shards flying from the rapid heat expansion and stabbing into Descartin's cooling vest. He thought he felt some of the shards poking into his body, and some thick liquid flowing down the insides of his vest. He hoped that it was simply mech coolant and not his own blood. He certainly could not feel anything through the dulling adrenaline of combat.

The PPC recharge light finally blinked green, and Descartin scowled as he stabbed the triggers for his primary TIC, at the exact same moment the _Wolverine_ chose to shoot its lasers, followed by a salvo of SRMs.

The enemy mech's lasers carved into his _Timber Wolf_'s torso, but the armor held, just barely, while the SRMs impacted all around him, sending up gouts of soil and flame beside the _Timber Wolf_. His own PPCs had a much more devastating effect.

The lightning bolts punched through the weakened center torso into the heart of the _Wolverine_, shattering its fusion engine. The fusion controllers managed to shut down the engine in time, preventing a catastrophic runaway reaction. The _Wolverine_ crashed to the ground.

Descartin struggled with his control sticks as the Draconis mechs made one last effort to take him down, firing their weapons for all they were worth. One _Jenner_ exploded as Jeff's pulse lasers caught its vulnerable ammunition bays, setting off the missile loads.

"Freebirth! Hurry up with those kills!" Descartin shouted angrily. He was sorely tempted to fire back at one of his tormentors, but the rules of zellbrigen prevented him from doing that, as it was dishonorable and strongly discouraged by the tenets of Nicholas Kerensky.

As though suddenly spurred by his furious demands, the fire on his mech died off as the 2nd Amphigean mechs went down one after another to his binary. Descartin checked the status of his warriors, and he was not surprised that none of them were hurt in any way.

_Because most of those mechs were shooting at me! _He said over the comms, "Alpha star, stay with me. Beta, make a sweep patrol to the northwest." Some of the freebirths had managed to escape. He toggled over to the command frequency. "Star Colonel, the defenders at the landing zones have all been driven off."

"Good. I will have the dropships land now. We have no time to waste. The stores have to be unloaded immediately."

Due to the demands of waging war over long interstellar distances with inadequate transport, the clan had no choice but to use a relay system to ferry supplies to a target world. The present amount carried by their transports was barely enough for the assault on Luthien. More would be brought in during the rest of the month.

But they had to secure the world first.

Two hours and a hasty repair job later, Descartin in his _Timber Wolf _was moving out along with the rest of his binary. Star Colonel had ordered them to hunt down the reinforced battalion of 2nd Amphigean LAG units that had dug in at the Tenderlands, a thickly forested area that would offer the defenders an invaluable advantage.

The trinary from Delta Galaxy was doing the same, in a movement parallel to Descartin's own advance. The plan called for them to hit the DCMS unit simultaneously at two points, and then pushing them out of the woods where their aerospace support could strafe the survivors into defeat.

_Of course_, Descartin reminded himself, _no plan survives contact with the enemy._

He had suffered some minor wounds to his body from the glass shards that had punctured his cooling vest. Not for the first time, he was grateful for the non-toxic properties of clan coolant fluid.

Beta star consisted of his heaviest mechs, with Jeff's _Warhawk_, Glace's and Rossi's paired _Dire Wolves_, Tia's _Gargoyle_, and Frick's _Timber Wolf_. The presence of the _Dire Wolves _slowed down the star immensely, but they were supposed to be tasked with assaulting fixed positions anyway, so their lack of speed was not really important.

Descartin muttered angrily under his breath as the light mechs of Delta Galaxy's 274th Battle Cluster suddenly reported contacts _before_ they had reached the forest. The contacts scattered, leaving the omnimechs of the 274th chasing them in all directions.

"This is Star Captain Hanna, we are in pursuit." A female voice barked.

"All units, continue on our path!" Descartin ordered his binary. "Watch out for hidden enemy mechs."

"You suspect a trap?" Deserk asked.

"Aff. Something is wrong here. There are only about twelve mechs being chased by the 274th. Where are the others?"

"Maybe they could be waiting in front of us to defeat us in detail!"

"In that case, we should proceed carefully. All units, stay close and advance!" Descartin kept an eye on the movements of the 274th. He had a bad feeling about the whole situation.

_Chu-i_ Yoshino Ihara grinned humorlessly in his hundred ton _Atlas_. The clanners had fallen for the modified bait and switch.

One enemy unit was advancing slowly, obviously wary of a trap, while the other was chasing the mechs of fifth company all over the place. They had no idea where the balance of the battalion was, and _Chu-sa_ Kimura fully intended to punish them for their audacity in attacking the Draconis Combine.

The 2nd Amphigean LAG commanders had been shocked when they found themselves under attack by two full clan clusters from two different clans, forcing them to split up into task forces to oppose the clanners.

The mixed command attacking the initial Nova Cat landing was decimated moments after it had mobilized when the landing location had been determined. The rest of the battalion had proceeded to the Tenderlands, where they would hopefully draw away the Nova Cats away from their supply caches long enough for their infantry units to sabotage them.

Inflicting damage on the clanners was a secondary concern, but still a nice bonus.

They were using their time honored tactic of pulling enemy units apart, and then swarming each unit individually by massed swarms of light mechs. However, due to the presence of his _Atlas_, left as a family heirloom by his samurai father, there were a few modifications to the tactic, all very welcome to the Combine defenders. The mech was now running on passive power, waiting for one of its lancemates to lead the unsuspecting clanners into its guns. Yoshino hoped that the active probes of the clan mechs would not be able to detect the low engine signature of the _Atlas_, even though it was further shielded by special tarps to blind any sensors trying to pick up the mech.

He went active almost as soon as _Shujin_ Fatau's _Javelin _hopped past the clump of trees shielding him from the visual sensors of the Cats. The _Atlas_'s weapons all indicated their readiness. An _Uller _light mech ran behind the _Javelin_, firing its large laser, oblivious to the _Atlas_'s presence.

Yoshino stepped the _Atlas_ out of its sensor camo tarp covered hiding hole, and he relished the fear apparent in the _Uller_ as it suddenly realized there was a hundred ton enemy behind it.

He triggered a long burst from his super heavy autocannon at point blank range, ripping into its rear, followed by a stream of SRMs.

The shells ate hungrily into the weak rear armor of the light mech, tearing apart one of its side torsos. The IR signature of the light mech flashed red as its engine shielding was shredded. The missiles hammered into the mech with a vengeance, blasting away the rest of its gyro and engine. The omnimech went down, the pilot ejecting from his destroyed mech.

Yoshino grinned as he turned the _Atlas _around to continue the attack. All around him, the clanners found themselves spread out and subject to the swarming tactics so familiar to the Amphigean mechs. They pulled back, trying to use their longer weapon ranges to their benefit, but the DCMS unit was in no mood to let them do that. They closed the distance fearlessly through swarms of LRMs and laser blasts, taking the damage and the losses while inflicting their own on the clan mechs.

"Battle Lance, press the attack!" Yoshino ordered as he fired his LRMs at a far away _Thor_. The missiles missed, but Yoshino charged the _Atlas_ on. His heart sang with bloodlust, and he was thinking of the famous victory ahead.

Maybe, just maybe, if they could defeat the clans here, they might be able to salvage the powerful clan technology, and use them to push the rest of the hated clanners off! Then Avon, his homeworld, would be safe from the predations of these barbarians!

"For the glory of the Dragon!" He yelled. The cheer was taken up by the other warriors of his lance.

"Star Captain! There is nobody here!" Yegro reported from his _Ice Ferret_. "They must be somewhere else!"

His comms suddenly crackled to life with a transmission from Hanna. "Star Captain! We are ambushed! Enemy strength is a full battalion! We require assistance immediately!" Sounds of intense combat could be heard in the background.

Descartin grasped the situation instantly. They had been tricked into splitting their forces, and the treacherous freebirths would then be able to overwhelm each clan force separately. While that might had worked against any other opposition, they were facing Clan Nova Cat this time.

"All units, proceed at maximum speed to grid 387962! Alpha Four, Alpha Five! Lead the way, and watch for any more ambushes along our route!"

Within moments, the clan mechs were racing away from the forest into the cauldron of battle. Yegro's _Ice Ferret _and Lori's _Stormcrow _led the way.

The incredible speed and mobility offered by the extra light engines of the clan omnimechs enabled them to reach the battle three kilometers away in just two minutes. Yegro's _Ice Ferret _destroyed a _Locust_ with just one shot from his PPC, while Lori's _Stormcrow _closed in with a _Javelin_, and then firing all of its lasers in a searing display of destructive firepower. There was nothing left of the _Javelin_ as its ammunition bays exploded under the barrage. Descartin smiled as his binary made an immediate impact on the battle.

The Amphigean mechs seemed stunned at the rapid arrival of the clan mechs, but to their credit managed to react quickly, swinging away from the main body of his assault force in an attempt to stay as far from his mechs, while still keeping in range of the battered 274th.

"Pour it on!" Descartin picked out a _Wolf Trap_, a new technology mech that was rarely sighted in the ranks of the DCMS, but likely to be a worthy foe. He fired his PPCs in a staggered pattern, forcing the Draconis mech away from the 274th.

His binary was laying into the Amphigean light mechs with relish, using their superior firepower to overwhelm the weak mechs of the DCMS.

The _Wolf Trap _danced away from his PPC shots, firing its cluster autocannon at his Timber Wolf in a display of sheer bravado.

_Very well, I shall honor your courage with a quick defeat. _Descartin smiled as he triggered his jump jets into a leap forward to take him into close range for his medium lasers.

The _Wolf Trap_ fired a salvo of missiles at him, trying to send him off balance in his jump. It was a futile effort, as his anti-missile system clawed the missiles out of the sky. Descartin fired both his PPCs followed by three of his medium lasers in rapid succession.

The hellish energy of the PPCs vaporized armor on the _Wolf Trap_'s legs before the medium lasers tore into its soft innards, slicing through the bones holding up the mech. The mech stumbled, as though trying to stay upright, but it was a lost cause. The entire lower leg separated from the rest of the mech, and the mech crashed to the ground in a shower of sparks. There was no ejection.

Gasping through the stifling heat in his cockpit, Descartin checked his sensors, looking for more targets. Then he saw the magnificent _Atlas _savaging Lori's _Stormcrow_.

Yoshino cursed angrily as he fired at the _Masakari_ that had just arrived to aid its comrades. The _baka _clanner just refused to go down!

He fired again, along with the rest of his lance as they sought to sell themselves as dearly as possible.

Tai-i Ichiro's company, which he belonged to, had been tasked to hold back the enemy advance while the rest of the battalion tried to break through a weak point in the clanners' lines.

The _Masakari_ had already destroyed two of his lancemates, Takuma's _Panther_ and Inamoto's _Wasp_. Inamoto, especially, never had a chance as he had flung his light mech against the _Masakari _in a death from above attack. His mech had been pulverized, but the wreckage had somehow managed to land on the clanner, and had even damaged the cockpit.

Even so, the clan mech had been hurt grievously. Fatau was playing a deadly game in his _Javelin_, constantly angling round to the rear of the clan mech and firing swarms of SRMs at the _Masakari_, while Yoshino kept it focused on his _Atlas_, which could take the damage it could deal out.

Then the _Masakari_ suddenly slumped to the ground as two SRMs from the _Javelin _found the already damaged cockpit. There was a wreath of explosions around the forward jutting area of the mech, and its legs folded up. The _Masakari_'s fall sent tremors through the ground.

Fatau had little time to celebrate his victory as his _Javelin_ was bathed in a rainbow of photon beams.

"Arghhhhh!" Fatau screamed as his _Javelin _exploded under the deadly caressing beams of the approaching _Ryoken_. The mangled carcass of the _Javelin _flopped on top of the _Masakari_.

Yoshino whipped up the arms of his _Atlas_, and fired his lasers even as the _Ryoken _charged in. One medium and one large laser scored, burning away armor on its arms.

The _Ryoken _mechwarrior did not seem afraid of his _Atlas_ in the least, arcing around to bring a massive autocannon in its left arm to bear on his mech. Yoshino watched the autocannon arm intently, and he dropped the _Atlas _to the ground just as the autocannon fired.

He had timed the fall perfectly. The roar of the autocannon whipped into the soil beside the head of his _Atlas_, even as he used the arms of the mech to roll desperately on the ground to avoid the autocannon burst. He could not see a thing beyond the shower of autocannon shells and soil raining on him. His ears were pounded with the incessant howl of explosive armor-piercing shells.

It was an eternity before it stopped. Yoshino quickly brought the _Atlas_ up again, just in time to receive a dosing of laser fire. He grunted as the _Atlas _staggered under the loss of almost two tons of armor, but he felt it was better than being hammered by that autocannon.

He replied with his own autocannon, and his missiles. The autocannon ripped into the left arm of the _Ryoken_, while half of the missiles impacted on the already damaged torso armor of the omnimech, presumably damaged from an earlier battle. The left arm with the super heavy autocannon fell away, and Yoshino sighed in relief at that. However, there was still a good deal of omnimech left for him to destroy.

The medium lasers of the _Ryoken_ flashed again, and Yoshino charged straight into them. Bringing down the range might help his own targeting, and he trusted his armor to keep the _Atlas_ alive.

He fired all of his weapons this time, except for his LRMs. The medium lasers missed, but his autocannon made another damaging hit on the mech, the staccato rhythm of the weapon highly reassuring to Yoshino. His large laser scored on the omnimech's head, disorientating the pilot for a moment, while his SRMs raced into the damaged torso opened up by his autocannon. The _Ryoken _staggered for a few meters, trying to compensate for the loss of so much armor and structure before losing its balance. It laid very still on the ground.

Yoshino marched the _Atlas _up to deal a final blow to the _Ryoken_, but a PPC streaked past his cockpit.

He looked up to see a _Mad Cat_ leap towards him.

"Alpha Four, what is your status? Answer me!" Descartin was worried about his fallen warrior, but a spread of LRMs from the _Atlas_ brought him back to the fight. They missed him, but passed by so closely he could see the black contrails of the missile flight wash over his mech. His AMS did not engage, having run out of ammunition. He cursed himself for not reloading after the initial drop on the Pollit Plains.

A voice spoke over the open frequency. "Villain, I am Chu-i Yoshino Ihara of the 2nd Amphigean Light Assault Group of the glorious forces of the Dragon! I challenge you to single combat! Pray to your false gods, and prepare to die!"

Descartin allowed a corner of his mouth to twist upwards in a slight smile. His _Timber Wolf_ was the heaviest mech still capable of chasing the fleeing forces of the Draconis mechs. By challenging him, the Atlas hoped to delay him for the rest of its comrades to escape.

In any case, the challenge had been issued, and he was honor bound to accept. "I am Star Captain Descartin of the 449th Assault Cluster of Clan Nova Cat, the noblest of Kerensky's children. I hereby accept your challenge. In this solemn matter, let no one interfere!"

The _Atlas _swung into action, laser fire blazing forth from its arms. Descartin gritted his teeth, and took the hits. The _Wolf Trap_'s cluster shells had somehow managed to knock away a great deal of the _Timber Wolf_'s hasty repair job, and one of the lasers tore into his left arm, disabling the PPC there.

Descartin backtracked, trying to open up the range between him and the _Atlas_, but the assault mech kept on coming straight at him, its missiles and large laser firing at him in one ruinous volley after another.

_If that is the way you want it, _Descartin grimaced as he threw the mech forward into a run. _This is going to hurt, _he admitted to himself.

The death head of the _Atlas _loomed large in his HUD as Descartin aimed right at the massive mech with all his remaining weapons. They fired at precisely the same time.

"Yahhhh!" Descartin found himself yelling in rage, pain, and fear as the _Atlas_'s shots hit home. Red flashing lights came on all over his cockpit, while sirens wailed of wrecked heat sinks, lost engine shielding, overheated systems, inoperative weapons, actuator destruction, and damaged gyros. His HUD was overcome with static, and he could not see a stravag thing!

He did not even feel the _Timber Wolf _falling backwards, nor the results of his own attack on the _Atlas_, so it was a surprise to him as his head was suddenly smashed back into his command crouch. The sheer shock of the impact knocked him out.

"Yahhhh!" Yoshino yelled in rage, pain, and fear as he felt the _Atlas_ falling ever so slowly backwards from the loss of so many of its leg actuators, in addition to the amount of armor simply melted away in the ravening heat of the laser and PPC blasts. One laser shot had hit his cockpit, and he had been almost blinded by the intense energy that had leaked through the polarized glass.

He was prepared for the crashing impact when the _Atlas_ hit the ground, but he was sent into unconsciousness all the same.

Descartin came to amidst the blaring sounds of his cockpit, groggily shaking his head to clear it of the stars swimming around merrily in his vision.

"What in Kerensky's name?" He muttered as he tried to get a hold of his bearings. His mech was a mess, but it was still capable of standing, and he still had a PPC and a laser working. In other words, he was still in the fight.

He looked at his partly shattered HUD, which showed nothing but blue sky. He saw on the sole remaining secondary display the fallen form of the Atlas.

"Come on, get up." He said, and he moved the right arm around to try to lever himself off the ground. Then he noticed one arm of the _Atlas_ move slightly, then swing around to push against the ground.

In an instant of understanding, Descartin realized that whoever got up first would have the advantage, and would then be able to pound into snail snot the loser.

"Come on, get up!" He screamed as he jerked his control sticks abruptly. It took several tries, but the _Timber Wolf_ finally managed to get unsteadily to its feet. He noted with relief that the ponderous assault mech was only halfway through the maneuver.

"Challenge is over." Descartin said with a note of finality as he fired his PPC and laser through the shattered center of the _Atlas_.

Yoshino swore bitterly as he saw the _Mad Cat _climb to its feet. If only he had woken up just two seconds earlier…

Then the PPC and the laser barrels of the omnimech erupted in light, and Yoshino found himself flung from the dying _Atlas_ in his command crouch. He found himself flying almost horizontally through the air, a result of his _Atlas _being in a less than desirable posture for an ejection.

Then he saw the ground approaching rapidly.

That was the last thing he saw before all went dark in a sickening crunch.

Action chapters are really easier to write! Anyway, that's about it for the battle of Avon. I hope that was enough action, because the next chapter focuses on Descartin, Deserk, and Yoshino Ihara. Simply put, seppuku, or rather, two clanners trying to stop it.

And after that… Well, Luthien is the name of the game, but can even Descartin and the Nova Cats defeat Jaime Wolf and Morgan Kell?

One more thing. I realized that my prior writing of Yoshino Ihara in NWO doesn't agree with the facts presented here. I can only say I'm still working on editing NWO when I have the time. The info here should be considered the most accurate.

And of course, all reviews are welcome!! Heck, I have no other incentive for writing other than for reviews!

Oh, this point concerns another review of another fic. Clanners don't have any hang-ups about sending heavies against lights. However, any honor gained in such a situation is practically worthless, which is why many warriors and commanders would rather take part in a battle where they are at least 'challenged'. That's also where the bidding system comes in, to prevent the waste of resources, and to set limits on the extent of the battle. In that fic, the Adders would have bid for the right to battle the two Fire Moths and the point of elementals. The bidding would have proceeded to the point where only one or at most two _Hellbringers_ would have marched out to face the _Fire Moths_. Or even more likely, a matching bid of two light mechs and an elemental star, which would have been the cutdown.

There is a veteran player I and a lot of old mechheads know as deathshadow(he posted a story here sometime back) who laments at the lack of true fighting spirit in the clan players nowadays. Simply put, if you want to enjoy the advanced tech, you have to write your characters as brutal no-nonsense warriors willing to die for glory. And glorious victories could only be achieved against great odds.

Here's something from one of his posts. Anybody writing fanfics about clanners MUST read this.

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Even during training, Clan warriors are prepared for all contingencies except one. Loss.   
If you think Kill, you will Kill.   
If you have a boot, you crush your enemy.   
If you have a hand, you strangle your enemy.   
If you have a club, you bludgeon the attacker.   
If you have a knife, you stab at your foe.   
If you have a gun, you shoot it.   
If you have a tank, you roll it over the opposing ranks.   
If you have an aerofighter, you bomb them.   
If you have a mech, you win.   
You are always the victor.   
When the blood is spilled, the bloodname is earned.   
We are the Clan.  
This simple passage tells all. Retreating from a battle does not advance one towards sponsorship for a bloodname. It is often better to die on the field in the name of the clan than endure the shame of a loss, a concept greedy power monger politico types rarely understand (eg Power Gamers). If you cannot defeat the enemy, maul them until there is not enough left of them to be still considered a cohesive force.   
Hell, losing a battle against superior numbers can even result in abjurement of the warrior. Just ask Dawn. Even Marthe could not honorably retreat from having her clan mauled on Coventry until Vlad presented an option. Retreating from the Inner Sphere forces arrayed against her simply to preserve her clans military strength would still have made her clan Dezgra. Leaving to oppose a clan threat allowed the Jade Falcons to save face.   
It just seems to me that people cannot separate themselves enough from their own experiences to play the kill or die warrior mindset typical of a warrior society correctly.

They point out this flaw in the Twilight of the Clans books during the planning stages. The clans operate almost entirely in the realm of lethality. Warrior vs. Warrior to the death is the way of the clan. Take the bloodname competitions, which tend to result in the deaths of over half the competitors.   
Thanks to the breeding program among the clans the life of a warrior is an expendable resource that is easily replaced. The continued pussification of the clans that has occurred in the past few years, especially among the liberalistic Wardens continues to offend me. Most people simply do not seem to be able to grasp the simplest concepts that make up the clan way, so the clan way has been watered down to let the limp-wristed, tree hugging, vegetable eating, tofu loving, namby pamby Californian hippy wannabe's pretend they can play clan.

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This attitude would be even more evident in losing battles. Just wait for the Luthien chapter!!


	11. Fire In The Belly

_Fresno, Gaffin Continent,_

_Avon, Pesht Military District,_

_Draconis Combine,_

_13th December, 3051_

Descartin stared out of his cockpit at the devastation in front of the _Timber Wolf_. Broken mechs were strewn across the landscape like shattered dolls, crushed by the massed firepower of the gathered Nova Cats and Smoke Jaguars. An eerie silence laid on the battlefield, a far cry from the thunderous massacre just a few minutes ago. The ground ran red with blood, the bodies of dead infantrymen scattered all over the ground.

After the abortive ambush in the Tenderlands, the 2nd Amphigean LAG had managed to break away with less than two companies of mechs, while the Nova Cats had lost almost two stars of mechs.

Then it had been a long and tiring chase to the east, as the Draconis mechs tried to resupply from a hidden cache, only to find that there were already elementals guarding the much needed material.

They were able to escape the elementals, and the chase continued to Fresno, where the battalion rejoined the rest of their unit. However, with the deaths of their regimental command staff due to a Smoke Jaguar headhunter unit, the 2nd never had a chance to recover as the clan forces descended on them with overwhelming firepower.

_Serves them right for opposing us_, Descartin muttered to himself. _Our way is just. We seek to reform the Star League, the crowning achievement of humanity. Why can they not understand that? So much blood and technology, wasted for nothing._

There were few prisoners from the 2nd LAG, and even the two infantry regiments that had accompanied the mech unit were almost killed to the last man. The Smoke Jaguars had been particularly vindictive in the slaughter, killing even those who had thrown down their arms to surrender. Descartin had agreed with Star Captain Hanna to lodge a complaint with the Star Colonel about such wasteful actions.

It certainly was not remorse. Clansmen do not feel remorse, nor do they view death the same way as most people did. It was this lack of emotion that had enabled them to achieve what they considered to be the pinnacle of human combat ability.

Avon was theirs, and Luthien was sure to follow. Descartin had been thrilled by his first taste of real combat, and he was eager for more.

His headset crackled. "Star Captain, Star Colonel Nostra wants to speak to you. Return to base immediately." A commtech informed him.

"Aff. I will be leading my binary back. Inform the techs to prepare for extensive repairs. My mechs are all heavily damaged." The Smoke Jaguars would hold this portion of the planet, and Descartin had no intention of staying near them any longer than necessary.

He switched over the special frequency for cross-clan communications. "Star Captain Jillian Osis," Descartin made sure to be respectful in his tone, "I have been recalled back to my base. Is it acceptable for you to handle matters here on your own?"

A haughty female replied, "Aff, it is. As per the terms set out before the Trial of Possession, all bondsmen captured on our territory are ours. Not that there are many of them left anyway." She laughed. "Now go away cub, and return to your litter."

Descartin bit back a sharp retort. There was nothing to be gained by antagonizing the Jaguars right back, not when the two clans still had to cooperate to conquer Luthien.

He moved his limping _Timber Wolf_ away from the bloody field.

"Tell me what is the meaning of this!" Star Colonel Thadeus Nostra shouted as he threw down a stack of reports on the desk. "Six mechs destroyed, three pilots down, three dead, and all you can say is that _you could not help it_?" Spittle flew from his mouth onto Descartin's uniform, but the Star Captain tried to ignore it.

Descartin stood rigidly at attention, not daring to move an inch. He did not even try to refute the Star Colonel's words, instead choosing to wait out the tirade. His eyes were firmly fixed on the empty space above his commanding officer's head, while his face was completely devoid of expression.

Nostra continued his rant. "If this is what lies in store for us for the rest of the campaign, then I might think we are better off staying in the homeworlds. I had such high hopes for you, Star Captain. I thought you would prove to be worthy of the responsibility of leading warriors of the clan into battle, and instead I get my troops decimated." He paused, as though trying to regain his breath.

Descartin winced as he took the opportunity to speak. "Sir, the freebirths are not stupid. We should have realized that they would try to split up our forces, then proceed to destroy us in detail. Most importantly, we did win in the end."

Nostra stared hard at him. "That is an extremely specious argument you have there."

Descartin sighed. "Sir, I know I fouled up when I failed to realize that the enemy mechs were going to concentrate on the 274th, but at the same time, it could have been my binary that was ambushed. There was simply no way for me to know in advance, not with the mechs I had."

"You fouled up all right." Nostra agreed. "The worst part of it is that I cannot get rid of you even if I want to. Right now, we need every mech for Operation Dragonslayer, and we are already short of warriors and mechs as it is." He walked around his desk to stand before Descartin.

"This is your first battle, so I will give you some space." He leaned in close, his eyes boring into Descartin, his face a mask full of anger and threat. "Foul up a second time, and I _will_ get rid of you."

Descartin gulped inwardly. "Yes Sir!"

"Before I dismiss, there is one more thing." Thadeus stepped away and half sat on his desk. "Star Commander Jeff's death meant that your trinary is now short of one officer. I have several warriors in mind to take over command of Bravo Star, but I would like to hear your own recommendations first." He folded his arms.

Having prepared for this very question while listening to Thadeus' ranting, Descartin replied without hesitation. "I feel Warrior Deserk should be brevetted to Star Commander."

"And is that your mind talking or your unbiased personal opinion?" Thadeus asked snidely.

Descartin refused to be cowed. "Deserk performed well when I was briefly incapacitated in the battle," he suppressed a shudder as he remembered the duel with the _Atlas_, "he took temporary command of the unit and held them long enough for me to return to the fray."

"And that one action alone recommends him for promotion, however briefly?"

There was a nod of Descartin's head. "I believe so."

"As it happens," Nostra's tone was almost pure acid. "Warrior Deserk's name _is_ on my shortlist, along with Warrior Lori, and Warrior Tenny. Since Lori is recuperating from her injuries, the choice comes down to Tenny and Deserk."

"Sir, Tenny is good, and he does have more experience…" Descartin trailed off.

"But?"

"He does not command the respect of the rest of the trinary. While Deserk is able to command their respect after only a few months. What does that tell you?"

"It only tells me that Deserk is more sociable than Tenny. It says nothing of his ability to command effectively."

Descartin tried another tack. "I looked through their intellectual test scores in their sibkos. Deserk has the better results."

Thadeus Nostra sighed in resignation. "It seems you are intent on getting Deserk to be your Bravo Star commander, quiaff?"

"Aff." Descartin admitted. "Sir, it goes beyond test scores. The fact that we came from the same sibko means that we can work better together. I think that will be even more apparent if he is one of my Star Commanders."

There was a long moment of silence before Thadeus shot one final death stare at Descartin. "Very well, I shall accept your recommendation, for now. Remember though, that if you or Star Commander Deserk foul up, I will bust both of you so hard that you will be wishing that you had never been warriors. Is that clear?"

Descartin saluted smartly. "Aff, Star Colonel!" He needed to get back to his bondsman.

"How is the bondsman?" Deserk asked the doctor as they stood in the hospital room. Yoshino Ihara laid on the bed, still unconscious since the battle at the Tenderlands. Tubes ran over his body, while bandages swathed his torso and head.

"He's out of danger, and he should be awake soon." The civilian doctor said, trying not to notice Deserk's frown at his use of a contraction in his speech. "Just a concussion, nothing more. He's lucky he did not break anything when his ejection seat hit the ground."

"Do not use contractions, scientist," Deserk growled, "They are a sign of impurity, a corruption of Star League English."

"Uh, okay." The doctor shuffled his feet uneasily. "Anyway, I must be off to see my other patients." He hurried away, as though afraid of Deserk.

Deserk grinned as he dropped his façade of the grim clansman. It seemed that the freebirths were very wary of setting off the warrior clans that had suddenly invaded their world. He guessed that the actions of the Smoke Jaguars earlier in the invasion had instilled a very healthy respect for the clans. Wiping an entire city off the map with orbital bombardment would tend to do that to anybody.

He looked at the three cords wound around the unconscious warrior's wrist, and wondered why Descartin had been so eager to claim this particular warrior as his bondsman.

Truth be told, this Yoshino(he would not grant this freebirth the honor of a bloodname) had proved his worth by defeating two omnimechs, even if his first kill came in an ambush against a _Kit Fox_. His assist against Jeff's _Warhawk_ and his second 'kill' against Lori's _Stormcrow_ were a great deal more impressive, though Deserk supposed that the earlier damage Lori's mech had taken in the battle made it easier for his _Atlas_ to win out in the end.

The mechwarrior had been badly injured when a MASH unit had arrived on the scene of the battle. He had been rushed to this hospital, though the doctors had later said that his injuries were not that serious.

The sound of strong footsteps from the hallway spoke of an approaching visitor. Deserk looked out of the room to see Descartin walk up.

"How is my bondsman?" Descartin asked without any preamble. Deserk did not mind, since he was used to Descartin's straight to the point manner after all the years in the sibko.

"The doctor said that he suffered a concussion, but nothing was broken. He should be awake soon." Deserk continued, "I also did as you asked, and checked the records we have captured in the planetary databases about this warrior's past. Quite impressive, I must admit."

"How so?" Descartin asked as he walked to the only window in the room, and stared out at the city they had captured, gleaming in the noonday sun.

"Graduated in the top 5% of his class at the Draconis Combine's Sun Zhang Academy. Granted, their training is nowhere near ours, but he shows potential."

Descartin grunted. "Hmph, of course he has potential. A poor excuse for a warrior would not be able to defeat two of our mechs. In fact, our clan is trying to recover as many bondsmen from the 2nd Amphigean LAG as possible, since we already know that the Jaguars would not be raising them to warriors. Stupid decision on their part, since these warriors have proved their courage and worth in battle."

"But there are not many of them left, quiaff?"

"Aff. I have lodged a complaint with the Star Colonel with the Jaguars' tactics, but it is likely that nothing would result of it. The Khans seem adamant that our present state of cooperation stays intact until we have the chance to take Terra."

Deserk nodded, then he noticed a slight movement by the person on the bed. A bandaged hand twitched, and the eyes on the Asian face opened.

"Ah," Deserk said, "the bondsman awakes."

Descartin turned around to stare into two gleaming chips of utter hatred. Yoshino stared as though his eyes had lasers which could impale the clan mechwarrior, fueled by the rage in his soul, expressed through his face.

The target of his hated smirked slightly. He strode over beside the bed, and pulled a chair up to sit down. Deserk wondered why Yoshino had chosen Descartin and not himself as a focus for his anger. Maybe the glittering insignia of higher rank in the form of a red sunburst on a blue circle on Descartin's jumpsuit signified his higher position, and thus more worthy of attention.

"I am Star Captain Descartin of Clan Nova Cat. I have defeated you in combat, as by clan law, you are now my property." Descartin paused for a while, while Yoshino hissed savagely. One arm swathed in gauze tried to swat at Descartin, but he caught Yoshino's wrist easily in his right arm.

Deserk saw Descartin squeeze hard with his hand, the muscles on his arms tensing, but Yoshino's face did not show any pain. Descartin continued to speak.

"You have fought well for a freebirth, and I shall honor you by allowing you to serve the mighty Nova Cats. If you prove your worth to me, you might even be a warrior again."

Yoshino, unable to retaliate physically, spat at Descartin, who managed to bring up his other hand up to block in time. The Draconis warrior spoke.

"_Baka_! I know what you seek to do! You would think that offering me a mech would convince me to betray the Dragon! You think too little of me! I will never fight for you, so you might as well kill me now!" Yoshino clenched his fist as he struggled with Descartin's grip.

Deserk began to think that perhaps taking this warrior as a bondsman might not be a good idea, and if most of the warriors they had captured had the same attitude, they might as well shoot all of them dead before they could create more trouble. What was it about the Draconis Combine that could inspire such fanatical loyalty on par with the irrational Blood Spirits?

Meanwhile, Descartin was shaking his head while still holding onto Yoshino. "It is an honor to fight for the clan. We have proven ourselves to be the stronger, and so you must submit to us. Might is right, and our victories have shown that we are right."

Yoshino stared at Descartin for long moments.

Then he laughed.

Yoshino Ihara continued laughing madly at the clanners' backs as they left his room after trying to explain, quite unsuccessfully, exactly what they were going to do to him.

He had been shocked that they had not placed him in a POW hospital, and even more shocked when they had suggested that he might fight for them. They had an extremely skewed view of the world, and Yoshino had not the slightest idea where they had gotten their ideas from. Expecting a loyal samurai of the Draconis Combine to serve his enemies? Hah!

He would rather die first, and that was what he was going to do.

The reports of the strange customs of the invading barbarians did not lie. They were weird, and almost utterly incomprehensible to Yoshino. Right now, he could see that they did not even bother to post guards outside his room!

He stopped laughing once he was sure they could not hear him, and resisted the urge to rub his wrist after the clanner's painful grip. There were three black cords around one of his wrists, and he had not the slightest idea what they were for.

Yoshino closed his eyes for a moment, trying to achieve the state of complete detachment from the world. It was necessary for what he was about to do next. He imagined a flame burning in a black void, and centered his thoughts on that flickering flame.

His eyes shot open, and he pulled hard at the various IV wires on his arms. Almost immediately, the openings in his skin started to bleed, but Yoshino shunted away the pain to the flame in his mind, and tore away strips of his blanket and wrapped them round his arms to stop the bleeding. He summoned up his energy to leave the bed, and staggered off towards the door.

He took a look out into the corridor, saw that there was nobody around. He went back to the bed to retrieve a pair of slippers, and left the room, leaving a bed with streaks of blood from his wounds.

As he walked in the hospital, he tried to act as nonchalant as he could. He considered it a stroke of luck that he had been there before, and so he knew the fastest route to the car pool.

He went through the hospital, resisting the urge to just run, since he still felt very weak, and he did not want to raise any suspicions either. Agent Hyu, now undoubtedly dead in one of the many commando attacks on the clan supply caches, would have been proud of his performance.

Yoshino nodded and smiled at a pretty nurse as he walked out of a set of doors into the car park. He picked out an open air green hovercar, and clambered over the door.

He soon managed to get it started with a bit of wiring learnt behind the instructors' backs at the Sun Zhang. The hovercar hummed into life, and he drove out of the hospital into the city.

Yoshino savored the view of the city as he drove, even though the banners of the Draconis Combine had all been removed. The tall buildings, signs of the world's prosperity, lined the streets. Due to the recent battle for the world, however, there were few people out, even in the late afternoon. He allowed the breeze to flow over his face, invigorating him.

Yoshino did not mind, as he headed towards his own estates. Bequeathed to him by his parents, they were all he had left of them. Even his father's _Atlas_, veteran of so many battles, was now nothing more than wreckage on a battlefield.

He had failed, and there was only one way for a samurai to atone for failure. He had disgraced his family, and again, there was only one solution that he knew of.

It was only a ten minute drive, but he could feel his injuries and fatigue taking their toll on his body. His vision grew hazy, but he persisted as he turned the wheel of the hovercar.

He drove past a series of gates, before stopping at his family home. Almost immediately, Toda, the elderly caretaker, saw him, and rushed down the steps where he had been pruning the plants lined on the side of the house entrance.

"Ihara-_san_!" The old man exclaimed, "Thank the Buddha you're alive!" He half lifted, half dragged Yoshino out of the car as the mechwarrior could not hold back his injuries any longer.

They stumbled up the steps, and Toda's face was slick with tears. Yoshino could only hiss in pain as he tried to move on his own, to reduce the burden on his faithful family servant.

Toda spoke softly as they struggled up to the house. "When the Nova Cats and the Smoke Jaguars announced that they had pacified the planet, I thought you were dead. I had tried so many ways to find out if you were alive, but with all the loyal samurai dead, and the killing of the planetary administrators by the barbarian Jaguars, there was no information at all!"

"I do not blame you, Toda-_sama_," Yoshino wheezed out as they pushed open the door. "The _baka_ clanners have killed most of my regiment. I managed to escape from the hospital they were holding me in."

"Ihara-_san_, what are you going to do next…" Toda trailed off as he saw Yoshino's eyes fixated on the katana and wakizashi placed in the weapons stand in the greeting room, normally a position of pride for the family. He understood what that meant.

He shot Yoshino a frenzied glance. "_Iie_! There must be another way!"

Yoshino pushed Toda away, slumping to the floor. "Another way? There is no other way! I have failed my _Tono_ and my honor! I have let down my ancestors and my parents! I had let down the people I had sworn to protect! There is no redemption for me." Yoshino finished weakly, his energy spent.

Toda trembled as he asked, trying to control his emotions, "What are your instructions, young master?"

"Prepare the garden. And bring me some paper and a brush. And since there is no one else available, you will have to be my _kaishaku-nin_." Yoshino knew that Toda, as a former samurai and comrade of his father in the DCMS, would not let him down.

"So what do you think of your new bondsman?" Deserk asked as the two clan warriors sat down for some food in the hospital canteen before returning to their base, a DCMS military installation that was left relatively intact by the fighting. At any rate, Deserk liked the new accommodations a lot more than the cramped confines of the dropships.

"He is angry, which is quite understandable. He will come around in time, I am sure of it." Descartin said, then bit down on a fried chicken drumstick they had appropriated from one of the food stalls.

Deserk was not as optimistic as his sibkin was. "I do not know. There seems to be something we are missing, something which we have not realized about the people here."

"There will be more than enough time to do so," Descartin waved off Deserk's misgivings. "Besides, I have good news for you."

Deserk raised an eyebrow. "You have?"

"As of right now, you are a Star Commander, in charge of Bravo Star," Descartin held out the rank insignia of a star commander in one of his hands to Deserk, who took it disbelievingly, "congratulations."

"I do not believe it. What convinced Star Colonel Nostra to promote me?"

"Well, for starters, this is only temporary, until we can hold a proper Trial of Position for you. Next, Star Colonel Nostra made it clear that if you or I mess up, he will have our heads, so I think he is just waiting to see if we can live up to the responsibilities. Lastly, you have earned this, by your actions in the campaign for this world."

"Well, I do not know what to say," Deserk looked at the insignia in his hand, "I mean, I…" He was cut off by a scream.

The two warriors quickly got up ran to the origin of the scream, only to find that it had been outside Yoshino's room. They found a visitor to the hospital crying in the arms of a nurse.

"What happened?" Descartin asked the nurse.

The nurse looked up. "This lady went to the wrong ward, and she was shocked when the bed was empty and there were blood stains on the sheets."

"Empty?" Deserk ran into the room. Aff, the bed was empty. And the IV tubes were scattered all over, while there was blood, quite fresh from the looks of it, on the white sheets.

"Des, he has escaped!" Deserk rushed back out into the corridor.

"Escaped, or left?" Descartin asked coolly. "Now, where could a man like him go, considering that he needs help? Comstar is quite sure that there are no resistance groups left, and the Draconis Combine would probably be unleashing everything they have here to weaken us before we get to Luthien, because if they do not attack _now_, then attacking later when their capital had fallen would be a waste of effort."

Deserk thought carefully. "His family had estates somewhere to the north of the city. I know where it is."

"Let us go then." Descartin was about to start walking away when the doctor stepped in front of their path. "Do you wish to die, freebirth?" Descartin asked with a edge of menace in his tone.

The doctor swallowed hard. "Uh, no. But I do feel I should tell you this, since I am bound by my oath to save lives. I think the honorable samurai is planning to commit _seppuku_."

Deserk frowned. "What is _seppu… _whatever you call it?"

"It means that he will kill himself, traditionally with a _wakizashi_. They do it to atone for their failure in battle."

"Bondsref…" Descartin nodded in understanding. Bondsref was the suicide of a bondsman who did not want to suffer the ignominy of serving his new clan. It was basically a one on one 'fight' between the bondsman and his master in which the bondsman would not retaliate, and the master was allowed to use any weapon. It was essentially suicide.

He nodded to the doctor, "Thank you for informing us of this. Your contribution will be reported." He started running, as did Deserk.

"Freebirth! He did not even ask me for permission to commit bondsref!" Descartin cursed under his breath as they ran to the car park.

"He probably did not know." Deserk explained. "After all, how could he?"

They ran out into the car park. Descartin jumped into the driver's seat of Deserk's jeep, emblazoned with the insignia of the clan. "We have to get to his home."

"Hold on. Do you know how to driveee…!" Deserk's question was lost to the air when Descartin floored the accelerator.

Deserk noted that because of the many things he had to learn in his short time as an officer, Descartin never had the opportunity to learn basic driving. That fact was brought to him in a rush of adrenaline due to sheer fear as Descartin blazed through the streets at full speed, barely in control of the wheel.

"Slow down, freebirth!" Deserk shouted to no avail as Descartin kept his foot pressed to the accelerator. Nevertheless, Deserk continued to shout out directions.

There was pandemonium on the streets as Descartin disregarded red lights, vehicles, and even pedestrians in his first time at the wheel of a car. Deserk was eternally grateful that their recent invasion of the world had resulted in a lot less people outside, or else it could have been a major bloodbath on the streets.

"HOOT! HOOT!" Descartin had found the car horn, and he was pressing it for all it was worth as they careened through the city, a blaring sound that literally filled the entire city. Deserk clung desperately onto the hand holds on the windscreen, hoping that his seat belts would hold up while they navigated the narrow roads.

All of a sudden, the jeep left the city, and Deserk calmed down when the amount of competing traffic became a trickle.

"Even if we are in a hurry, there is no need for you to go this fast." Deserk muttered.

"Well, a life is a stake. I consider that enough reason to go as fast as we can." Descartin replied. "How much further?"

"About four more klicks up, turn right. We should be there soon."

"Aff." Descartin acknowledged.

The time passed by quickly, and soon they were driving past a series of gates to a large traditional Japanese mansion.

The jeep screeched to a halt, and the two clansmen jumped out of the vehicle. Deserk realized his legs felt like rubber as he landed, and he had to reach out to the jeep's doors to remain on his feet.

"What is wrong?" Descartin asked.

"Never mind, just go first! I will catch up once I get some blood back into my legs!" Deserk waved his sibmate off.

Descartin turned around and started running up the steps.

Descartin tore through the flimsy paper doors. _Stupid architecture_, he thought as he looked around. There were mats on the floor, but there seemed to be nobody around. For a moment he regretted his clumsy entry, but it looked as if there was nobody around. _Perhaps we were wrong._

He drew his sidearm, a gauss pistol. While most clan warriors prefer laser pistols for their ease of use and lack of ammunition, Descartin had chosen the gauss pistol for the visceral feel of a gun in action. He thumbed the safety off, and walked slowly into an adjacent room. The pistol gave off a thin whine as the capacitors charged up.

There was nothing much in the next room. A holovid player, some rice calligraphy works on the wall, and some mounted paintings in the dimly lit room. It was getting dark as dusk fell on the world.

Descartin looked around a bit more, and he noticed light streaming in from one of other doors leading from the room.

He pushed the door to the side slowly, and then peered out. It led to a corridor, bordering what seemed to be a garden. There seemed to be lights in the garden, compensating for the setting sun. Descartin tried to peek around, but the angle of the gap prevented him from seeing anything more of the garden.

He slid the door open just enough to squeeze his body through, just in time to behold a strange tableau in the garden.

A man with bandages all over his body was holding a sword in front of him with the tip facing his stomach, while another man, old and decrepit, with a despairing expression on his face, held up a slightly shorter sword, ready to swipe the bandaged man's head off with one clean stroke. He recognized Yoshino as the man ready to plunge a sword into his own belly. The two did not seem to notice his presence.

Then light from the setting sun reflected from the short sword's gleaming blade as Yoshino plunged it down.

"Stop!" He shouted. His gauss pistol was already raised, but he could only fire on pure instinct. He pressed the trigger anyway, aiming for the blade, and hoping against hope that his shot was true.

It was a one-in-a-million shot as the blade plunged in for a moment before being spun away to one side by the impact of the gauss slug. The tip of the blade nicked the entire side of Yoshino's body, drawing a long bleeding scar as the samurai lost his grip on the short sword, which continued to spin away from the sheer momentum imparted by the gauss slug.

The old man turned to look at him, and suddenly charged at Descartin.

Descartin countercharged the man with a yell, drawing a short knife from his belt and holding it in his left hand as his right hand snapped off several rounds from the gauss pistol.

Incredibly, two of the rounds missed the old man, while the one that was on target was somehow blocked by the blade he wielded as the blade flashed in front of him in a desperate defense. A red light appeared on the gauss pistol, indicating that it was out of ammunition. Descartin flung the pistol at the old man, who batted it aside with a swat of the katana. The pistol flew into the garden plants.

The clan warrior took advantage of the momentary opening in the old man's charging stance as he closed in with the elderly bladesman with a burst of speed. As a result, the old man suddenly realized he did not have enough space to use the katana effectively.

Descartin's knife flashed up, but the old man threw himself backwards, while slashing out with the blade. Descartin hurriedly brought the knife down to parry, only just in time to prevent the katana from eviscerating his body.

He stepped in closer to the old man, who was trying for another swipe of the sharp blade with his back on the ground. Before he could strike, Descartin kicked out savagely at the man's head. The blow connected solidly, and the old man fell back groggily.

Another yell made Descartin look up, to see Yoshino bearing down with the blade he had used to almost kill himself. Descartin managed to bring up his knife to parry the blow to one side.

"Hey!" A shout from Deserk as he arrived at the scene. He had his laser pistol aimed at Yoshino. "Stop fighting now!"

Without warning, the old man on the ground flung his katana at Deserk, who was too stunned at the attack to move completely out of the way. The blade incredibly sliced through his pistol, destroying the advanced weapon. Deserk stumbled backwards as the laser pistol exploded.

Descartin did not even attempt to take his attention off Yoshino to see what was going on with Deserk. The bondsman might be hobbled by his injuries, but the reach of his weapon more than compensated for his lack of strength and mobility. The two circled around one another, trading blows and parrying rapidly.

Descartin stared at the center of his opponent, trying to anticipate his moves as best as he could and blocking with the knife, which was a joke compared to the sword of his opponent. His defense was not totally successful, and he had suffered several minor cuts on his arms and legs. Moreover, the knife was already badly nicked by the far sharper Japanese blade, and could not possibly hold up much longer.

He wondered if Deserk could come to his aid in time.

Deserk was having his own problems. His laser pistol had blown up in his face, and he had been reduced to running from an old man and his katana.

For all of his enemy's age, he did not seem capable of keeping up with Deserk, but that was exactly what was going on as Deserk scrambled from one spot to another, dodging the wicked slashes from the katana all the while.

Deserk tripped on one of the tiles, and slid to the ground. He saw the old man closing in to deliver what was sure to be a deathblow. Deserk spied a potted plant nearby with a sturdy stem, and he reached out for it in a last ditch move, pulling it up and around with the clay pot as a makeshift club.

The katana sliced through the pot, but the mass of soil and clay fragments continued on their way into the old man, who staggered slightly. Deserk took the opportunity to grip the old man's wrist, and he twisted hard.

The katana fell to the ground, and Deserk followed up with a fast roundhouse to the old man's head. The punch slammed into his head, and the old man collapsed to the ground, completely unconscious.

Deserk looked up to see Descartin and Yoshino still going at it.

Yoshino stared in rage at the _yohei_ warrior who had, of all things, the temerity to interrupt a _seppuku _ceremony! He channeled that anger into strength for his blows, which were wearing down his enemy's defense.

"Why," he panted, "Why don't you just let me die!"

The clanner replied, even as he parried another blow from the _wakizashi _with his ridiculous knife. "You have worth and value. The spirit of a true warrior. It would be a waste if you should kill yourself."

"Worth and value?" Yoshino spat. "I have failed! What worth do I have? What value?" He slashed wildly with the blade, forcing Descartin back.

Then a hand from behind him clamped onto his wrist with the hand wielding the _wakizashi_. Yoshino tried to use his left elbow to strike back at his new assailant, but his target slipped away to the front, chopping at his hand with a blow and dropping the weapon from his hands.

Yoshino did not give up. He kicked out viciously, but the other clanner simply blocked the kick with his legs. Descartin took advantage and went in with a blow to Yoshino's stomach that dropped him to his knees.

Yoshino was beaten, and he knew it. He looked up at the two clanners standing in front of him. Deserk picked up his _wakizashi_ and stabbed it tip first into the ground beside the _katana_. "Kill me and be done with it." He said.

Deserk sighed. "The point of this whole exercise was to prevent you from dying!"

"I am already dead, in soul if not in body."

Still breathing heavily from the conflict, Descartin sat down on the garden tiles. "You really believe that? By Kerensky, you are more messed up than I thought. I do not believe that anybody could think of committing suicide just because he had failed."

"It is a matter of honor." Yoshino insisted, still hoping that these mad clanners would come to their senses and kill him.

"And by dying, you think you can wash away your failures? That is a mark of cowardice, Yoshino. A true warrior endures, and in hope that he can regain his lost honor."

"But fighting for you, my enemies, against the people I have sworn to serve?" Yoshino shook his head. "I will never do so."

"You have seen what we can do. Does it matter if you help us or not? Perhaps by helping, you could temper our invasion, help us better understand the people we are conquering. Do you wish for another Edo?"

"_Iie_!" Yoshino yelled as he remembered the horrid images of the ruined city on Turtle Bay. "Is this a threat?"

"Neg," Descartin answered, "This is not a threat. We are not the Smoke Jaguars, brutal and ruthless warriors who seek only to destroy. We are the Nova Cats. We seek the future in our visions, and strengthen our minds and bodies to fulfill Kerensky's vision. Our conquest is less a matter of subjugating the Inner Sphere than beating the Crusader clans to Terra, our ultimate objective."

Yoshino rocked back at the revelation. "You seek to conquer Terra?"

"Aff. We seek to restore the Star League. Even you must admit this is a worthy cause."

"But at what cost?" Yoshino asked. "The death and destruction of so many warriors and mechs, just to restore a lost dream?"

"Yes. We did not expect you to simply let us pass on our way. Would you have given us permission to set up a Star League, if we had simply arrived and asked you to join us?"

"I don't think so." Yoshino admitted. His eyes narrowed. "But you still have not given me a reason to continue living."

"Then how about this? As a bondsman, you shall have a closer understanding of the clan. Perhaps when and if you escape, your superiors in the Draconis Combine would be pleased with your information." Descartin ignored Deserk's shocked look as he gave his treacherous suggestion.

Yoshino felt insulted. "I am samurai. Spying is below me."

"Well then, I suppose there is very little I can say. But think about it. Everybody has their own perceptions of honor. Nobody can live without honor. I know that. Your failure in the face of great odds is not, and never will be, dishonorable. You stood in the face of danger and fought to your best ability, and warriors with spirit like that should be commended, wherever they are."

"Commended, but still killed." Yoshino said bitterly.

"Live to fight another day, young master." Toda stumbled towards them. Descartin looked up for an instance, but he apparently did not judge Toda to be a threat anymore, and he remained relaxed.

Toda continued. "The _yohei_ is right. If you die today, who will avenge your parents? I am an old man, and I can hardly pilot a mech, much less fight a battle in one. You have your whole life in front of you. Live, and fight another day. Where there is life, there is hope."

Yoshino closed his eyes. He could die. If he wanted to do so, nothing could really stop him. But his death would mean that his vow of vengeance on Vance Rezak would never be accomplished. But if he lived, he would be abandoning his honor, aiding the enemies of the Dragon. Even if he did as Descartin suggested, and did so with the intent as a spy, he did not think he could bear to do so.

No, if he decided to live on, then he would serve his new masters loyally. But he might have a chance of avenging his parents. Either way, he would lose his honor. _Ninjo_ and _giri_, the tenets of the way of the samurai, both equally important. He made his decision.

He would live, and fight another day. And perhaps one day, avenge his parents.

He opened his eyes to look at Descartin, who stared right back. "So you tell me I'm your bondsman. What does it mean?"

Whew, yet another chapter. This one went on way beyond what I had estimated for it. More than 6000 words.

Hmmm… somebody wanted stats for Yoshino's Atlas. So here they are! I just downsized the LRM-20 rack for a 10 rack, then upgraded one medium laser for a large on the right arm, while adding another medium laser to the left arm. This is to give the Atlas more consistent ranged firepower up to 450 meters, instead of the LRM-20 rack that runs out of ammo entirely too often for my liking in a ranged duel. Still 3025 tech.

As for the Atlas rolling on the ground, treat it as author's prerogative. :D

Next chapter?

"As I walk in the valley of the shadow of death…" – Words ascribed by Kell Hound Jack Murray to Kado-guchi Valley after the Battle of Luthien

Type/Model:    Atlas AS7-K1

Tech:          Inner Sphere / 3025

Config:        Biped BattleMech

Rules:         Level 1, Standard design

Mass:          100 tons

Chassis:       Foundation Type 10X Standard

Power Plant:   300 Vlar Fusion

Walking Speed: 32.4 km/h

Maximum Speed: 54.0 km/h

Jump Jets:     None

Jump Capacity: 0 meters

Armor Type:    Durallex Heavy Special Standard

Armament:      

  1 Large Laser

  4 Medium Lasers

  1 Autocannon/20

  1 LRM 10

  1 SRM 6

Manufacturer:  Yori 'Mech Works, Defiance Industries, Independence Weaponry

  Location:    Al'Nair, Hesperus II, Quentin

Communications System:  Army Comm. Class 5

Targeting & Tracking System:  Army Corporation Type 29K

--------------------------------------------------------

Type/Model:    Atlas AS7-K1

Mass:          100 tons

Equipment:                                 Crits    Mass

Int. Struct.:  152 pts Standard              0     10.00

Engine:        300                  6     19.00

   Walking MP:   3

   Running MP:   5

   Jumping MP:   0

Heat Sinks:     20 Single                    8     10.00

 (Heat Sink Loc: 1 HD, 1 LA, 1 RA, 1 LT, 2 LL, 2 RL)

Gyro:                                        4      3.00

Cockpit, Life Supt., Sensors:                5      3.00

Actuators: L: Sh+UA+LA+H    R: Sh+UA+LA+H   16       .00

Armor Factor:  304 pts Standard              0     19.00

                          Internal    Armor

                          Structure   Value

   Head:                      3          9      

   Center Torso:             31         47      

   Center Torso (Rear):                 14      

   L/R Side Torso:           21      32/32      

   L/R Side Torso (Rear):            10/10      

   L/R Arm:                  17      34/34      

   L/R Leg:                  21      41/41      

Weapons and Equipment    Loc  Heat  Ammo   Crits    Mass

--------------------------------------------------------

1 Large Laser            RA      8           2      5.00

2 Medium Lasers          LA      6           2      2.00

1 Autocannon/20          RT      7   10     12     16.00

  (Ammo Locations: 2 RT)

1 LRM 10                 LT      4   24      4      7.00

  (Ammo Locations: 2 LT)

1 SRM 6                  LT      4   15      3      4.00

  (Ammo Locations: 1 LT)

2 Medium Lasers          CT(R)   6           2      2.00

--------------------------------------------------------

TOTALS:                         35          64    100.00

Crits & Tons Left:                          14       .00

Calculated Factors:

Total Cost:        9,526,000 C-Bills

Battle Value:      1,478

Cost per BV:       6,445.2

Weapon Value:      1,965 / 1,965 (Ratio = 1.33 / 1.33)

Damage Factors:    SRDmg = 28;  MRDmg = 11;  LRDmg = 3

BattleForce2:      MP: 3,  Armor/Structure: 8/8

                   Damage PB/M/L: 5/4/-,  Overheat: 2

                   Class: MA;  Point Value: 15

                   Specials: if


	12. As I Walk

_Warship _True Vision_,_

_Nadir Jump Point, Avon System_

_Smoke Jaguar/Nova Cat Occupation Zone_

_03th January, 3052_

"Here is the final briefing before we jump into the Luthien system." Descartin said as he activated the holo-projector in their small ready room. His expression was taut with excitement, which Deserk was sure was shared by all the warriors of the Trinary.

A map of the planetary surface, complete with natural features like forests, factories, fortifications and the like appeared in the projection. Deserk stared at the map. Any fight through the tangle of fixed defenses to get to the Imperial City would be a hard and arduous affair.

"As all of you have no doubt seen, their defenses are formidable. As a result, our Khans have suggested to the Jaguars that we should drop directly into the city streets of Imperial City and secure it with our elementals, and force the enemy to _come_ to us for a change."

Descartin snorted derisively. "Of course the stupid Jaguars disagreed. In the end, the final plan calls for us to land at the Tairakana Plains, and then advance through the defending battle lines towards Imperial City."

"Sorry, Star Captain, but that is foolish." Star Commander Sazur commented. "That would allow the Draconis Combine to have all the defensive advantages, while we are reduced to striking at hard points."

"Yes, " Descartin nodded, clearly agreeing with Sazur, "but we do not question our orders."

Deserk looked around at the new faces in their trinary, and he thought about where following their orders on Avon had gotten them. They had to bring in replacements from the garrison cluster brought to Avon to bring the Trinary back up to full strength, and though Descartin had tried his best, the newcomers still needed more time to adapt to the unit, and allow the unit to adapt to them as well.

"And in case you are wondering about the defending strength, there are some new updates." Descartin paused for effect. "Before, we already knew that Luthien was garrisoned by a substantial force of mechs. The Otomo, an elite bodyguard regiment. The Genyosha, which defeated the Jaguars on Wolcott, two regiments strong. The 2nd Legion of Vega. Disgraced in the eyes of many, but a potent force. The 1st Sword of Light, the Pillar of Ivory, composed of some of their most fanatical warriors. Given these defenders, we will be able to crush them, with sheer numbers if nothing else."

Descartin bent down, leaning on the holo-projector control panel. "Victory is not so certain now. Comstar has just given us warning of additional forces reinforcing the Combine defenders."

His eyes seemed to glow in the dark as he continued, "They are the Wolf Dragoons and Kell Hound mercenary units." Gasps arose throughout the room.

Deserk was as taken aback as anyone else. "How is that possible?" He asked. The Wolf Dragoons were formerly clan, sent by the clans to ascertain the strength of the various Houses of the Inner Sphere. However, they had spent so much time in the Inner Sphere that they had become corrupted by its ways, and had refused to return to the clans after their mission was accomplished. Throughout the invasion so far, they had not opposed any of the clans, yet it seemed they had finally chosen to bid themselves into the battle for Luthien.

Descartin ignored Deserk's question. "Reports place the Dragoons at five regiments, with at least two more special force battalions. The Kell Hounds are two regiments in strength, and we know very little of them save that they were one of the better units that opposed the Wolves in the initial waves of our return. For them to have survived those battles at all means that they would not be easy foes."

Deserk raised his hand. "So where did they come from? I recall Yoshino saying that the Combine did not hire much mercenaries, and had a particular feud against these two units."

Descartin shrugged. "I have no idea. Given the complex politics of the Inner Sphere, I guess anything is possible, quiaff?"

"Aff." Yoshino had been a helpful source of information with regards to Combine tactics and practices. They had already compiled several reports for Star Colonel Thadeus Nostra using the information gathered. But still, Deserk had his doubts. "But what are our chances now of taking Luthien?"

"I cannot say I am sure, but I would estimate it to be about fifty percent. Sixty-forty in our favor if our luck holds, and the other way round if _their_ luck holds."

Deserk did not like the sound of that, and from the murmurs of the other members of the trinary, they did not either. _We will be lucky if we can even get to the city gates! _He thought.

Descartin was speaking firmly. "Our trinary will be spearheading the brunt of any assault, heavy losses are expected. But I want to make one thing clear to everybody. I know that many of you are disappointed at the recent fiasco on Avon. But take note. We still won, and we will not lose as long as our cause is just, our skills honed, and our mechs ready."

"We will not fail." He said again for emphasis.

"Seyla!" The trinary shouted.

_Dropship _Seeing Things_,_

_Planetary Approach, Luthien System_

_Pesht Military District, Draconis Combine_

_04th January, 3052_

Descartin shifted uneasily in his seat as the dropship shook violently, rattling his _Timber Wolf_ like a bead in a can. _I hope we can land safely_, his thoughts ran, as he looked at the splotches of red spots swarming all over the blue dots on his radar feed from the dropship's sensors.

The blue dots represented friendly aerospace forces from the Nova Cats and the Smoke Jaguars, trying to hold back the horde of enemy fighters from reaching the important mech transports. From what Descartin could see, it was like trying to swat aside a swarm of bees with a palm, completely ineffectual.

They had been attacked once by space based combat wings when they had just jumped into a pirate point near Luthien, it had not been so bad at the time, and they had been able to pass through relatively unscathed. Then had come 15 hours of peaceful transit, until they had come within range of aerospace forces based on Luthien itself.

He grimaced as the ship shuddered again. He could swear he heard the twisting of metal somewhere from the sides of the mech bay, further exacerbated by some intense shouting from the muffled communications feed from the bridge of the _Seeing Things_. Descartin thought he could make out the words "crippled", "engines", and "cut them loose".

He tried to ignore the gadflies in his stomach. The worst part of it for a born warrior was that his ultimate fate was in the hands of others, and not his own. Descartin was sure he was not the only one feeling nervous. No matter how much they had been conditioned to trust their fellow clan warriors, none of them could ever disregard the fact that they were not in charge of their destinies in such situations.

Stretching his neck several times to each side as he sought to release some of the build up tension in his shoulders, Descartin ran another systems check on his mech. Better safe than sorry, and it was not like he could do anything much anyway.

"Star Captain," His comms crackled, as the dropship captain said, "We are entering Luthien's atmosphere, and should be grounding in ten minutes time. Please get ready to move out."

"Aff." Descartin replied. He switched over to the trinary feed.

"Third Assault Trinary, we are grounding in ten minutes. Move out as quickly as possible. I do not want any sitting targets. Time is of the essence if we are to push through the Combine defenders." He did not bother to hear the replies of his troops. He trusted his Star Commanders enough that they would make sure of that.

The next few minutes passed by quickly, and the intense shaking of the approach run was replaced by a calm silence. In some ways, the silence was even more ominous than the roar of the space battle outside, akin to the cold stillness of a plain before a lightning storm.

Descartin could feel their rate of descent slowing even before the dropship captain could inform him of their landing, since their descent virtually decreased the overall acceleration due to gravity on his body. He checked his systems for the umpteenth time, hoping that this would not turn into a compulsive habit in the future.

There was a abrupt thump as the dropship's legs sank firmly into the ground, and Descartin knew immediately from his suddenly increased weight that they had landed.

The bay doors pulled open almost immediately, and Descartin pushed his throttle forward. As the commander, it was his duty to be the first out into any hostile combat situation.

"Star Captain, we read several vehicles around our landing site. Eliminate them." Star Colonel Nostra ordered.

"Aff, Star Colonel." Descartin's _Timber Wolf _sprinted out of the mech bays into the open plains.

His first view of Luthien was rather disappointing. He realized he had been expecting a nice clean environment much like Avon, but Luthien was far different. Though it was still night, the reddish tinge in the sky attested to the smog present in the atmosphere.

The ground was muddy even before his mechs had began to move over it, and he could see signs of severe soil erosion in several places as strobing lights from the dropships illuminated their surroundings. The thatchy grass grew in clumps here and there, clinging to survival in the dark, oily earth. Descartin began to understand why Luthien was called the "Black Pearl".

Two _Skulker_s were racing towards the _Seeing Things_, and Descartin moved his _Timber Wolf _on an intercept course. He charged his PPC capacitors, ready for battle.

The Combine vehicles stopped in their tracks as Descartin led his mech forward, as though stunned at his approach. Descartin knew better. The stravag freebirths were trying to gain as much information about the mechs marching out of the dropship holds before fleeing.

_They will not escape_, Descartin swore as he fired at the nearest _Skulker_. The PPC bolts slashed through the night, two streaks of lightning in the dark. The _Skulker_ exploded as the shots slammed home, setting off its fuel stores. The night was brightened by the burning wreck of the destroyed vehicle, and the light from the fire was thrown out to about a hundred meter radius. One tire spun lazily round the burning ruins for several seconds, before settling onto the ground almost resignedly.

The second _Skulker_ seemed to realize that staying in place was a suicidal move, and started reversing at full speed.

The _Timber Wolf_ continued running forward, as Descartin sighted in on the fleeing _Skulker_ with his PPCs. Two bolts of lightning struck out again, but only one hit. However, Descartin knew he had gotten lucky when the _Skulker_ simply stopped in place, the crew probably killed by a lucky hit to their compartment.

All around him, he could see clan mechs chasing down Inner Sphere vehicles, as the landing zone became one huge hide-and-seek arena.

Deserk's vulture-like _Mad Dog _came up beside him. "What do you want us to do?"

"Sweep around from grid 7865 to 7234, and then to 7805 with your star. Destroy all Skulkers. The rest of us will stay behind to defend the dropships."

"Aff. Moving out now." The _Mad Dog _sprinted off with its starmates as they carried out his instructions.

Descartin contacted Nostra, "Star Colonel, I have sent my trinary on a combat patrol of our landing zone. What do you wish us to do next?"

"Star Captain, several of our dropships have suffered malfunctions, so instead of their troops dropping to provide a forward screen, they are grounding in the landing zone. This will delay our advance, so I want you to prepare for aerospace and artillery attacks."

"So we wait?"

"Aff. You wait."

Descartin hunkered his _Timber Wolf_ in the shadow of an _Overlord-C_, the chicken legs of the omnimech telescoping down as he waited for further orders. Reports came in of scouts penetrating their perimeter and sneaking away successfully. Although there were no real enemy attacks so far, the tension in the landing zone seemed to increase with each transmission of enemy sightings.

_Come on, come on_, Descartin repeated the words like a mantra as he waited for his orders. Deserk's star soon returned from their sweep, with reports of several vehicle kills. None escaped on their side, at least those they were able to detect.

Without warning, the brightening sky was suddenly filled with explosions.

"Enemy fighters!" Came the cry over the combat frequencies. "Incoming!" The dropships threw up a wall of flak and laser fire, seeking to dissuade the Draconis Combine fighters from making their strafing runs.

Descartin shouted to his men, "Cover the dropships! Move it!"

The trinary sprang into action. LBX autocannons covered the sky as they all scanned the skies for fighters. Descartin could see twisting exhaust trails of the fighters in the battle as they fought for supremacy in the skies. Somewhere up there was Khan Severen Leroux, in his _Scytha_ omnifighter.

"Watch nine o'clock!" Somebody yelled. The trinary swung around in time to see two _Slayers _making their runs, two tiny specks angling down from the aerobattle towards them.

"Forget about zellbrigen!" He had enough of dueling rules. Facing so many enemies, they had too much to lose. "Fire on my command!" Descartin made a quick estimate of the time it would take for the fighters to approach their firing range, and realized that they were approaching too fast for a immediate fire command. "Amend previous order! Fire on three!" The slayers, once small dots, were now quite visible to their eyes.

"Mark!" Descartin started to sprint his _Timber Wolf _right for the two fighters, in a head on confrontation. "Two!"

His star followed him, while the other two stars moved right and left respectively to catch the _Slayers _in a crossfire. "One!"

The _Slayers _screamed down at them.

"Fire!"

The two _Slayers _literally broke apart under the furious assault before they even had time to fire their own autocannons and lasers. The mess of burning metal and high strength plastics that were once cutting edge fighters crashed into the ground behind them.

_Scratch two fighters_, Descartin twisted his mech's torso around to scan for further air attacks. A beeping tone on his console alerted him to another message from Star Colonel Nostra.

Nostra got straight to the point. "Star Captain, the enemy fighters are pulling back momentarily. All our forces have landed, and the Jaguars are already moving onto the Tairakana Plains. All Nova Cat clusters are advancing behind them. Our orders are to act as a reserve for the Jaguars, and push through if the assault should stall. Understand, quiaff?"

"Aff!"

"Good. Proceed to grid 8043 for linkup with the rest of the cluster."

Descartin switched back to the trinary channel. "Listen up, Third Assault. We are going to move for the Tairakana Plains with the rest of the Galaxy. Stay in line, and move together."

The long snaking line of omnimechs heading out for battle from the landing zone was indeed impressive. Descartin and his trinary fell in line, the footfalls of their mechs sending up a moving tremor in the ground as they marched.

"Worried?" Deserk asked.

"Always." Descartin kept his eyes fixed on the horizon. Even though the air attacks had stopped, and there were more than a hundred clan mechs in around him, he wanted to stay alert.

"I have a very bad feeling about this."

"You are not the only one. Let us keep our eyes open. It is not as if we do not know what is coming at us, quiaff?"

A series of explosions interrupted their conversation.

"What happened?" Descartin quickly toggled to receive all transmissions.

A Jaguar warrior was making a quick report. "Filthy freebirths rigged up some mechs armed with explosives! Then they detonated the minefield around us! We have lost almost two binaries in their honorless ambush!"

Descartin decided he had heard enough. "Everybody watch out. The freebirths are using traps. Try to stay away from enemy units and engage at long range. Do _not_ close in!"

"Contact!" Yegro shouted from his _Ice Ferret_. "Four companies, at sector 4! Jaguars are pushing against them, but they are taking heavy losses. Do we assist?"

Star Colonel Nostra cut in. "449th Assault Cluster, head for sector 4 immediately. We are to assist the Jaguars in breaking through the defensive lines. Opposition is the 1st Sword of Light and the Otomo. Destroy them."

The Star Colonel's grey _Executioner _led the way as the entire cluster charged towards the Combine lines. Descartin followed close behind in his _Timber Wolf_, the trinary in a wedge formation behind him. Other trinaries flanked them, all racing towards the Combine defenders.

Descartin could see flashes of laser beams and missile contrails between the gray colored Jaguar mechs and the mechs of the Combine, the flat black mechs being the Otomo and the flat red painted ones from the 1st Sword. It was already early morning, and the grassy ground shimmered lightly as they ran over.

He settled his crosshairs onto an enemy _Hatamoto-Chi_, watching as the range dropped enough for him to use his ER PPCs. He fired the moment the crosshairs turned red, signifying a lock.

The _Hatamoto-Chi_, which looked like a man in armor, staggered from the impact of the particle bolts as they crashed into its torso. The assault mech turned around in time to receive another volley of missiles from Deserk's _Mad Dog_. The mech toppled to the ground.

A badly mangled Jaguar _Stormcrow _ran up and caved the head of the _Hatamoto-Chi_ in with a flurry of kicks, before it was blown away by a _Battlemaster _at point blank range. The _Battlemaster _was in turn wreathed in energy beams and missiles from the front mechs of the Nova Cat cluster.

Descartin slowed his _Timber Wolf _down to a steady walk, sine there were now more than enough targets for the picking. He managed to spy a 1st Sword _Archer _aiming its missiles at him. As the _Archer _fired its racks, Descartin triggered his jump jets, flying to his left in an attempt to shake the missiles.

As the LRMs sent up gouts of soil on the area he had just vacated, Descartin fired back with his PPCs. One lightning bolt missed, but the other whipped into the _Archer_'s left leg. He could feel the temperature in the cockpit rising as the heat sinks struggled to remove the heat buildup.

_Better not waste my anti-missile ammo_, Descartin thought as he moved the _Timber Wolf _closer to the _Archer_. _If I can just get into its minimum range.._

Descartin spotted the trap in time as a black _Hunchback _suddenly appeared behind the cropping of rock it had been hiding behind on his right. The sight of the AC/20 on the _Hunchback_ sent up an panicked feeling in his stomach. Descartin swallowed hard.

He decided on the _Hunchback _being the more immediate threat, and walked towards the _Archer _while he torso twisted the _Timber Wolf _ to its right to keep his weapons on the _Hunchback_. He fired his array of medium lasers, seeking to get the first shot off, and hopefully disrupt the _Hunchback_'s targeting before it could cream him with its autocannon.

The medium lasers all hit, melting armor off the Hunchback's arms, legs, and torso. The hits disrupted the Hunchback's own aim, and its autocannon missed. However, the lasers on its arms flashed out at the Timber Wolf, and one of them hit, nibbling away armor on Descartin's right arm.

The _Archer_ did not even bother to fire its LRMs, but ran in closer to the _Timber Wolf_. Descartin could not figure out why, even as he squared off with the _Hunchback_.

He fired his medium lasers again, punching holes into the _Hunchback _as it tried to bring its autocannon to bear. One arm from the _Hunchback_ was sheared off this time, while the mech fell to the ground from the loss of the limb in a shower of sparks.

Then the _Archer _stepped in with both battle fists swinging. Descartin caught the movement out from one corner of his eye, and he could only brace himself as the punches hit home. Both blows smashed into the left torso, and his head was sent ringing with the impact as his neurohelmet slammed into one side of his cockpit.

He swung the left arm of the Timber Wolf up as he twisted the torso back to face the front. The _Archer_ stepped back to avoid the impromptu uppercut, then fired its LRMs at point blank range.

The missiles all hit, but due to the extremely short distance between the mechs, the arming mechanisms of the missiles did not activate the explosives, reducing them to mere projectiles that could only crush a few armor plates on the clan omnimech with their kinetic energy. It was also the short distance that prevented the anti missile system on the _Timber Wolf _from shooting the missiles down.

Descartin waited for the heat from the firing of his medium lasers to subside before he triggered all of his weapons except for one ER PPC. The particle blast from his left arm weapons pod sliced into the _Archer_'s right torso, followed by two medium laser blasts into the same location. He sucked in air greedily as hot air from below him bellowed out into the cockpit.

Almost before he knew it, the _Archer _blew up in his face as its ammunition went off. The Timber Wolf tottered back, Descartin working his pedals as he tried to stay upright from the force of the _Archer_'s death.

A burst of autocannon fire past his cockpit brought his attention to the _Hunchback_ firing from the ground, propping itself on one arm to shoot at him. Before he could attack it, Sazur's _Executioner _finished it off with a volley of large laser beams and gauss rifle slugs.

All around him, Descartin could see the Combine mechs falling back as they were punished by superior clan technology. In contrast, the Nova Cats had suffered little damage. To add insult to injury, clan fighters were strafing the 1st Sword as they regrouped, preventing them from putting up any significant resistance.

His comms crackled. "This is Star Colonel Nostra. All Nova Cats, hold your ground. Let the Jaguars take the attack again. We stay in reserve, and help them only when their attack falters."

"Aff, Star Colonel." Truth to tell, Descartin wanted nothing better than to continue the assault. Leaving the responsibility to the Jaguars was the logical decision, though, since that meant they would be the ones bearing the brunt of the defending forces. But not the honorable one.

Descartin gritted his teeth. There would be more than enough opportunities for glory. So far, they had only encountered about three of the Inner Sphere regiments. There are still more than five regiments left to fight. Most importantly, the dezgra Wolf Dragoons have not showed up yet.

"Star Colonel, enemy forces have appeared on both sides of the Jaguar spearhead. Shall we assist?" Somebody from 1st Assault Trinary asked.

"Neg." The reply came. "But move up in case the Jaguars cannot handle it. No point interfering now. They might not appreciate our help."

Descartin thought he could hear a sardonic grin in Nostra's voice, which brought to him just how much both clans had riding on the outcome of this contest, not just against the Inner Sphere, but also against each other.

"Those are Genyosha mechs," Deserk told him after a while, as they approached the southern flank of the spearhead. "They are supposed to be even better than the Sword of Light."

"I guess they are." Descartin uttered in awe as the cluster crested a hill to behold a terrible sight.

The ash gray heavy mechs of the Genyosha had trampled all over the screening Jaguar forces, inflicting heavy casualties. The ground was scattered with broken and shattered Jaguar omnimechs, while the Combine mechs were already pulling away, out of range of the Nova Cats.

"Star Colonel, do we pursue?" Descartin asked.

"Neg. Hold this course and advance to the front. The attack here has drawn away some of the Jaguars, and their advance is in danger of stopping. Do the same thing as we did before. Break the defending lines."

Before following the rest of the cluster to the front, Descartin took one more look at the battlefield where the Genyosha had so easily defeated the Jaguars, and forced down a twinge of unease. Stravag, clan omnimechs are not supposed to fall so easily.

Within two minutes, the cluster had surged into the 1st Sword, which had again established a second defensive line. Descartin noted the battered state of the Jaguar mechs as they fell back to give the Cats room to attack.

His _Timber Wolf _led a flanking charge against a company of 1st Sword mechs, slashing around as the rest of the cluster advanced headlong into the defenders. One of the first opponents he saw was an assault class _Crockett_. A Star League machine, he decided it would doubtless give him a tough fight.

_Or not_, Descartin muttered to himself in surprise as he fired his ER PPCs, both shots slashing into the right torso. The _Crockett _exploded, even before firing a single shot.

_One more down_, he told himself as the Inner Sphere company fell back in shock. His trinary bore in with a vengeance, using superior clan technology and skill, together with combined fire to take down the 1st Sword company.

Descartin teamed up with Deserk against an alien looking _Marauder_. The Inner Sphere mech fought back desperately, but all Descartin suffered was a PPC hit to his right leg before his PPCs and Deserk's lasers vaporized the mech.

The Combine defenders fell back yet again, as the Nova Cats led the way through this time. Descartin triggered his jump jets over a small hill, catching a glimpse of more mechs moving amongst the trees in the Waseda Hills about three kilometers away as he reached the apex of his jump.

"More mechs in front, Star Colonel." Descartin reported. "Do we engage?"

"Go ahead." Star Colonel Nostra ordered. "We will push ahead now. The Jaguars will be our reserve this time. Be wary of traps."

Descartin nodded to himself. It was sound advice, and he kept his eyes open.

His trinary moved ahead cautiously towards the hills, sweeping the area before them with their weapons. It was just past noon, and the light from the sun's primary was trying to cut through the gray clouds perennially over the area around the Imperial City. The terrain just before the hills was clear, and then leading to the rolling slopes that the locals named Waseda Hills.

Descartin did not know why, but the unease in his stomach grew as they neared the hills. He knew there was something very _wrong _about the entire situation, but he could not place it exactly.

Then he narrowed his eyes, as he saw the red and black _Archer _right in the middle of their path.

Sorry for taking so long, but it's the start of a new semester, and my chemistry for this half of the year is not exactly easy… Basically, I'm doing quantum mechanics!

Another reason for this is I've been spending too much time playing real BT instead of writing it, so that did not help matters either.

In fact, it took an email on chinese translation from a certain CBT novelist which prompted me to get off my butt and get back on this chapter. Suffice to say, my name may be popping up in a future product. Woohoo!

The next chapter should be up in mid Feb, if I'm feeling inspired. The name of the next chapter is "…Into the Valley of the Shadow of Death".

And of course, please read and review!


	13. In The Valley Of The Shadow Of Death

_Waseda Hills, Luthien,_

_Pesht Military District, Draconis Combine,_

_04th January, 3052_

"Take that _Archer_!" Deserk heard Descartin shout as the Inner Sphere freebirth stood unmoving in the middle of the road, as though daring them to destroy it.

He could see other Inner Sphere mechs behind the _Archer_, all holding back for some strange reason. No matter, that audacious _Archer _would go first. His hands drifted the crosshairs over the _Archer_, as he prepared to send it to wherever freebirths go to when they die.

The crosshairs dropped over the heavy mech. No lock. He cursed the computer once, pushed the tiny cursor on the screen up and then back down onto the _Archer_ again. _No lock!_

"Stravag!" Deserk yelled, wishing he could hit his panel in frustration. He fired his large pulse lasers anyway, trusting to his own skills to get it on target.

They missed, passing by more than 4 meters to the sides of the _Archer_, and for all of his skill, he might as well have been shooting at a target twenty kilometers away. Deserk's eyes bugged out for a while, before he looked around. Then he saw he was not the only one to miss. Everything from missiles, autocannon rounds to particle beams were tossed at the hulking _Archer_, but they all flew past the mech.

Then the _Archer _started to move, and the grace of the mech as it strode to one side was both impressive and terrifying. Deserk could not recall ever seeing anyone move that way. Not ever. Not by Star Colonel Nostra, not even by saKhan Lucian Carns himself.

The missile racks on either side of the _Archer_'s torso popped open, and the gleam of missile tips from the bays was engulfed in smoke as the LRMs screamed out at an _Ice Ferret_.

The _Ice Ferret_ literally disintegrated under the barrage of missiles as every single one punched through the center torso armor. Deserk felt his blood turn cold at the sheer speed of the omnimech's death. _That is impossible! _His mind screamed at him.

"Flank it!" Deserk ordered his star. "Watch for its missiles!"

Descartin shouted back, "Forget about its missiles, more incoming!" Deserk looked up in time to see a gleaming cloud fall upon the Nova Cats. He had time only to think of one word. _Freebirth._

His _Mad Dog_ was tossed about from the shockwave of multiple missile hits as they smashed in, and Deserk watched his armor status go from green to yellow as missile after missile stripped away the mech's protection. He gripped his control sticks tightly, concentrating on sending the proper signals through the neurohelmet to his massive gyroscopes to keep the _Mad Dog_ standing.

More missiles continued to rain from the sky, pummeling mechs all along the Nova Cat advance. Few were destroyed, but most were battered by the metal storm.

Meanwhile, the _Archer_ was still standing, launching wave after wave of LRMs at damaged Nova Cat mechs, or using its arm mounted lasers to surgically slice apart opponents who had approached too closely. Deserk could not believe his eyes as he inspected it visually. It was untouched! Out of more than a hundred shots at it, and he could not believe there was not a single hit!

"Descartin, I am going in against the _Archer_! Cover me!" Without waiting for a response, he ran the _Mad Dog _in. Perhaps he would have a better chance of getting a weapons lock in close.

He forced his way through another hail of missiles. By Kerensky, they never seem to stop falling! His armor was beginning to show red all over, and several waves of vertigo washed over him as another salvo caught out a leg actuator.

Deserk cursed fervently and shook off his nausea, but he kept the _Mad Dog_ shambling towards the _Archer_. He pressed down on all his weapons studs, trying desperately to get at least _something_ to hit the stravag freebirth. Not surprisingly, his streak systems failed to lock, his LRMs veered somewhere off to the right of the _Archer_, while his large pulse lasers peppered the ground before it impotently, spraying up glassy beads formed from the laser's heat.

"Deserk, pull back!" Descartin shouted. "That _Archer _will tear you apart!"

Ignoring his sibkin, Deserk charged on. If only he could get close enough to fire at point blank ranges…

The _Archer_ seemed to have noticed him, and it stepped back slightly, before its missile racks erupted in fire and smoke again. Deserk flinched back in his seat instinctively, before he noticed that he was not the target of those missiles.

They crashed into a _Warhawk_ behind him, shattering the cockpit of the assault design. The powerful omnimech toppled slowly to the ground, bereft of a living mind to keep it upright.

Then Deserk realized the _Archer_ had not forgotten him after all. Its lasers came up flashing, and they carved into his engine shielding like a hot blade. The heat in his cockpit surged like a wave, nearly overwhelming him.

The _Mad Dog_ tottered forward. Deserk tried to focus his eyes through the smoke rising from the cooking circuits and his own sweating body. The targeting systems were fizzling out, and the communications band was filled with static from the outpour of radiation from the leaking reactor.

He thumbed his triggers, the buttons slick with sweat from his fingers. Again, the streak systems failed to get a lock, and the LRMs splattered uselessly against the rocks around the _Archer_. The pulse lasers went upwards and stayed up this time, no matter how Deserk tried to swerve the barrels back down towards the _Archer_.

The heat warning klaxons were all going off in a wailing scream, saturating his eardrums, but none of that mattered as the _Archer_ attacked again with its lasers.

The brilliant beams scoured away more of his engine shielding, and Deserk could feel his mech falling apart underneath his seat. Then he saw the indicators flashing at him, warning of catastrophic containment failure.

In other words, the _Mad Dog_ was about to go 'BOOM'.

Deserk did not hesitate, reaching under his seat for the ejection clasp and pulling hard with a sudden jerk even as the thrumming roar from the bleeding engine under him started to rise in pitch, climaxing in a high pitched crescendo, even as his seat was jettisoned out of the cockpit.

He could barely see a thing as his senses were engulfed in the wind snapping all around him, the sounds of battle around his ears, and then a burst of heat from under him.

Deserk blacked out as the shockwave from the explosion of his engine's destruction hit him.

"Deserk!" Descartin yelled uselessly as he saw his sibkin's _Mad Dog_ go down. He sidestepped the _Timber Wolf _to his left even as more missiles rained down on his position.

He tried to look for an ejection seat, but the explosions around the _Mad Dog _obscured his view, even as he fired another volley at the stravag _Archer_. They all missed.

"Star Captain! Move aside! We are taking too many losses! Flank 450 meters to the left! Perhaps we can slip past them there!" Star Colonel Nostra sounded more than a bit desperate, which struck Descartin as an ominous sign.

_We are clan, we cannot fail… _Descartin could not believe what he was hearing. In effect, Nostra was already conceding the present battle to the red and black mechs! It was intolerable!

Descartin was half tempted to shout for them to hold their ground, or at least long enough for their elementals to retrieve their warriors, but he bit it back. There would be more than enough time when they have captured Imperial City.

He watched as two more heavy omnimechs charged at the _Archer_, only to be smashed by two close assault lances. Autocannons and PPCs flashed in, rending apart armor and structure, leaving only melted corpses at the _Archer_'s feet.

A frustrated Descartin switched targets, changing to an _Axman_. He fired his PPCs, and grunted in satisfaction as the _Axman _staggered back from the impacts of the particle bolts on its torso, the heavy ax on its right arm slumping back down in surprise at the violence of his attack.

The vengeful Kell Hound counterattack sent him scrambling back as missile after missile descended on his location, his anti-missile system working overtime to defend the _Timber Wolf_ from the deadly hail, spitting out a fusillade of rapid cannon fire.

For all of the Nova Cats' efforts, they had only destroyed about two lances of mercenaries in exchange for a full trinary. Descartin was dismayed to see that he had lost Deserk and two other warriors from his trinary.

The cluster shifted away from the deadly _Archer_, trying to flank the dogged defenders. A company of Kell Hounds opposed them as they charged past the hills, with the rest pouring down fire down the flank of the Nova Cat advance from their entrenched positions. Descartin led the way forward, trying not to think of Deserk as he sighted in on a _Ostsol_.

He unleashed a full salvo of PPC bolts, followed up by three of his medium lasers. The _Ostsol _fell backwards as its right leg was severed by one of the PPC bolts, but not before it hit back with a volley of laser blasts.

The pulse laser darts nibbled away at his armor, but Descartin paid it little heed as he continued the _Timber Wolf_ on its path, barely pausing to feed the prone _Ostsol _another dose of laser fire as he passed it. It scrabbled on the ground, trying to prop itself up to fire, but the loss of one arm made that an impossible task.

His way was blocked by another mercenary mech, this time a _Whitworth_. Descartin did not even bother to fire his weapons this time. He pushed his throttle to the maximum, straining every last bit of speed out of his mech as he leaned the forward carapace of the _Timber Wolf _forward in a charge straight for the _Whitworth_, the arms held low, the legs pumping for all they were worth. _If I can get under the LRM envelope_… he thought.

Descartin braced for the impact even as the _Whitworth _launched its LRMs at him, the missiles flying past his _Timber Wolf_. Then the _Timber Wolf_ took one last bone jarring step before slamming into the medium mech, which jostled Descartin violently in his straps.

The _Whitworth _crumpled away from the _Timber Wolf _for several meters as it was flung back by the imparted momentum from the _Timber Wolf_. It sent up a cloud of dust as it slid along the ground, before stopping to lay very still on the ground, the armor dented and bent from the charge.

Descartin had barely kept the _Timber Wolf_ upright from the collision, but he paused for a moment over the cockpit of the _Whitworth_. He loomed over the fallen mercenary mech, one PPC barrel aimed at the vital head section and he was sorely tempted to blow it to bits, in vengeance for the loss of Deserk. He trembled with rage. If he could not take the _Archer_, then he will settle for the life of this warrior.

But something else spoke to him._ No, there is no honor in killing a defeated foe. This is not the way of the Nova Cat._ He forced himself to take a deep breath, and turned the _Timber Wolf_ away.

His short pause did not go unnoticed. Sazur said, "Sir, we are almost past the Waseda Hills, and heading into the Kado-Guchi Valley. We must make haste towards the Imperial City, before the defenders can gather more strength." Descartin noted the gentle rebuke in his subordinate's words.

"Into the valley then." Descartin ordered. "Third Assault, forward."

He told himself to forget about Deserk and concentrate on the fight. And left the red and black _Archer_ behind them.

They charged into the valley, the thick woods around them as they spied the gleaming city in the distance, their ultimate objective. They were now just 5 kilometers away. The wide bottomed valley ran on for about 2 kilometers, then opened out onto the Kado-Guchi Plains, leading finally to Imperial City.

Elsewhere, Descartin knew the battle was not going well. The rest of the mercenaries had managed to tie up the other clusters with stop and go engagements, prolonging the fight and allowing their air wings more time to hit their lines.

One other cluster, the Nova Cat Lancers, had managed to follow them through on their flanking march. The rest were bogged down in the hills, slugging it out with the mercenaries, while the Smoke Jaguars prowled behind, awaiting an opportunity to break through. Another cluster was pinning down the Kell Hounds, and Descartin hoped they would be able to destroy the _Archer_.

Faint hope of that, he admitted to himself.

In any case, it was up to the 449th and the Lancers to break through the remaining defenders. If they could crush all resistance in the valley, then the mercenaries would have no choice but to fall back if they wanted to continue the defense of the city, which in turn would allow the rest of the clan to advance forwards.

"Star Colonel, I am detecting mechs on the valley slopes. They are not moving." Somebody reported.

"Star Captain Descartin, confirm?" Nostra asked.

Descartin looked at his sensors. Sure enough, there were mechs standing on the valley slopes. From the seismic scans, a good portion of them were above medium class. Strangely, none of them were moving.

"Aff, there are mechs there. We engage, quiaff?" Descartin studied the slopes warily. Charging up the valley slope would not be easy, especially when faced with that many heavy and assault designs.

"Neg. Continue. The Imperial City is our main objective. If they want to stop us, they will have to abandon the high ground. Go on, but be ready if they attack."

Descartin nodded, though the action would not be seen by Nostra. The _Timber Wolf_ started forward again, but Descartin kept the mech's torso twisted slightly to the side facing the unknown mechs. The head of the line of Nova Cat mechs was only 4 kilometers away when the battle was rejoined.

Without any warning, the line of mechs suddenly surged down the slopes. Prepared as they were for this eventuality, the Nova Cats were still stunned by the force and speed of the assault.

Descartin saw a _Phoenix Hawk_ lead the charge down the slopes, followed closely by a _Grand Dragon_, moving at almost a hundred kilometers an hour. He snapped off a shot at the fourth mech in line, a _Crockett_. One PPC bolt missed, but the other burned into the left torso. The assault mech shook off the hit, and continued down the into the valley.

"Brace yourselves!" Descartin snapped at his trinary as the gold painted mechs slammed into their lines. He did not know if any of them received his order, but the battle swept over him, and he could hardly care less as he threw himself wholeheartedly into the inferno.

The _Crockett _came on at him, and Descartin drew his lips back in a snarl as he spun the _Timber Wolf_ to his left, whipping up his right PPC even as he ignited his jets to carry him to his left in a burst of plasma flame. The _Crockett _adjusted its course to continue chasing his mech, its broad feet sending up stone and gravel as they sought purchase on the ground.

They fired at the exact same moment, the air between them filled with PPC, laser and autocannon fire.

Descartin blasted with his PPC and the full array of lasers, with only two laser beams passing low and above the _Crockett_. The PPC slammed into one of the arms, while the lasers produced molten scars all over the _Crockett_.

In turn, the _Timber Wolf _was buffeted by a variety of laser fire. Then the _Crockett_'s LBX cannon shotgun followed up with a burst of cluster rounds. Descartin cursed as one round streaked into his cockpit, the high velocity pellets punching through the plexiglass window and sending shrapnel into his legs.

"Freebirth!" He shouted as he slammed on a shutdown override switch. The heat in the _Timber Wolf_ was rising to near boiling temperature levels, and still rising as he sucked in air greedily.

All around him was pandemonium as Nova Cat and Luthien defender mixed it up at melee ranges. The Nova Cats seemed to have forgotten about zellbrigen as they fired at whatever target was closest at hand. Mech after mech exploded or went down as limbs were destroyed, yet everybody fought on grimly.

The _Crockett _was also overheating, but it blasted away with its full arsenal, as though intent on skewering the _Timber Wolf_. Descartin kept the sluggish omnimech moving, firing his PPCs constantly, seeking that one knockout hit. It never came, but the _Crockett _lost a great deal of armor as the battle continued.

Yet as the fighting continued, Descartin noted a slackening of fire between both sides as the bulk of the Kuritan defenders moved away to the south. The Nova Cats were more than willing to allow them to move away, while concentrating their fire on the remaining mechs in range. The Nova Cats also moved back, in order to better taken advantage of their longer range. Descartin could not figure out why this was so. _They had to know fighting like this is suicidal. _The Crockett drifted out of range, which was slightly frustrating, but also a relief, as he could allow his mech to cool down.

The reason for their actions became apparent a moment later. "Mechs approaching from the south!" Yegro reported from his _Ice Ferret_, miraculously still in the fight. "It is the mercenaries!"

_What? _Descartin could hardly believe what he was hearing. The mercenaries were supposed to be back in the hills holding back the main advance. In any case, that they had abandoned their positions meant that the balance of the Nova Cat force would be able to enter the valley as well.

But in the meantime, they were trapped between two enemy forces. Nostra knew it too.

"Everybody charge to the west! Break past their lines into the city!" He shouted.

"Aff!" Descartin replied along with the other clan officers as they brought their mechs back up to full flank speed. Then Descartin realized from his displays with dismay that the other Combine and mercenary units had managed to ring their position, however momentarily with the remainder of their surviving units.

If only for a brief time, they had two clusters of Nova Cats completely at their mercy.

"Go! Go! Go!" Descartin screamed, adrenaline pumping through his veins as they smashed into the mechs that had started the battle in the valley.

The Combine defenders held their ground resolutely, matching the Nova Cats blow for blow. Sazur's _Warhawk_ crashed into a _Phoenix Hawk_, folding the smaller mech and throwing it backwards even as Descartin blasted an already damaged _Hunchback _into oblivion with his lasers while enduring vicious counter-fire from a _Cyclops_.

The elementals had been dropped into the midst of the whirling charge, and they also served notice of their threat as they swarmed mech after mech. However, Descartin could see that it was too little, too late.

The mercenaries did not hold back this time, closing quickly to savage the Nova Cats. As he engaged a _Panther_, Descartin saw a _Grand Dragon _decapitate a _Dire Wolf _with a well placed shot to the head. He did not take solace in the _Panther_'s destruction as he tore it apart with another laser barrage. It replied just before dying with its PPC and a spread of missiles, all of which hit his _Timber Wolf_. The PPC removed the remaining armor on his right torso, while the SRM missiles streaked in unopposed by his anti-missile system, which had run out of ammunition while engaging the _Crockett_.

"Can I hitch a ride?" A voice came over his radio.

Descartin turned to see an ebony black elemental bound away from a ruined Kell Hound mech towards his _Timber Wolf_. He could also see the other members of its point scattered in half melted pieces around the dead mech. Only one elemental in the entire galaxy used such a distinctive motif.

"Be my guest, Santin West. We are out of here." Descartin said firmly. The elemental gratefully clung onto one of the few remaining handholds on the battered _Timber Wolf_. Descartin quickly ran the _Timber Wolf _away before anyone else decided that it was a good target to shoot at.

The few survivors of the cluster managed to break away right beside him. The rest of the Combine defenders did not seem inclined to pursue them, instead regrouping in the valley, probably to receive the rest of the clan forces.

The remaining few from the 449th and the Nova Cat Lancers had gathered on the Kado-Guchi Plains, just outside Imperial City,.

"Star Descartin, what is the status of your trinary?" Nostra asked. Descartin looked to his right to see Nostra's _Executioner_. It had definitely seen far better days, having lost an arm in the vicious fighting.

It took Descartin a short moment to ally up his losses, and he was shocked at the extent of damage his trinary had suffered. They were now down to less than half strength with only 5 mechs, and the remaining mechs were all badly damaged, including his own _Timber Wolf_, which had suffered internal damage. They had given all they got, but it was still not enough.

And Deserk was still dead. As he looked around the battered force, Descartin felt his anger swell. It was not supposed to be like this! Their crusade was supposed to sweep over the Combine, not bogged down into furious slugfests!

"What is our next step?" Sazur asked. There was a note of resignation in his voice, sign that he had already conceded defeat.

Descartin would have none of that.

Nostra said, "We enter Imperial City. That should be enough to ensure the surrender of House Kurita."

"Wait a minute." Descartin was puzzled. "How in Kerensky's name does holding Imperial City mean victory if everything that really matters is still in the valley?"

Nostra sighed. "Our orders from the Khan. Capture the city. Destroy their industry."

"With what?" Descartin shot back. "Two binaries? No. I say we march back to the valley. If we can time our attack at the correct moment, we might be able to create enough disruption in the Combine lines…"

"Neg. Those are our orders…"

The anger over Deserk's death finally boiled over. "To Amaris with those orders! I am telling you right now that there is nothing to be accomplished by attacking the city! Besides, to destroy those facilities is wasteful!"

Santin West cut in, "I agree with Star Captain Descartin. If we are to defeat the Dragon, we must capture or kill Takashi or Theodore Kurita, who must be on the field right now. Just taking the city, even if we succeed, is moot if the rest of our forces are destroyed."

Nostra seemed to sense that he was losing control of the situation, and he started to move his mech towards the outskirts of the city. "I will not bandy words with you any longer. I aim to fulfill my duty, and that duty calls for me to attack the city. If any of you wish to disobey my orders, I promise to challenge you to a Trial of Grievance once the battle is won."

"Stay with me, and we can win the battle," Descartin insisted to no avail as a trinary's worth of troops followed the Star Colonel's mech. "Freebirth, we can do this!" Descartin punched his console hard in frustration. "Stravag!" He shouted in anger.

Only 4 mechs and a point of elementals remained with him.

"Star Captain West, take that _Centurion_!" Descartin shouted as he pressed the attack into the rear of the Combine defenders. The elementals swarmed over the mech eagerly, tearing away armor and nibbling at the internals structure. The Kell Hound _Centurion_ swatted desperately at the elementals on it, and managed to punch away one elemental, which was sent flying for almost twenty meters before rolling to a stop. It laid very still.

The remaining elementals hung on, and Santin West managed to tear away a particularly vulnerable leg actuator, which sent the mech crashing to the ground.

"Next!" The fearless elemental shouted as he bounded away for another target.

Descartin unleashed a barrage of lasers into the fallen _Centurion_, blowing away the arms and legs. It would take no further part in the battle.

Their entry into the battle had come as a nasty surprise to the Combine defenders. So far, Descartin could count at least a company of mechs, both mercenary and Combine, that had fallen to his makeshift Star.

If only he had two binaries with him. Then he would be sure of their chances of turning the tide.

As it was, their effort seemed too little. The display of firepower in the valley astounded him, and he saw entire clusters and regiments pound away in an orgy of mutual destruction.

"Head northeast," Descartin ordered, "That will take us into the hills. The positions there might be better." At least, he hoped so. He had no illusions of his unit's survival once one of the Inner Sphere units decided to go after them. Their success so far was all due to surprise. Now they had to get back to their own lines.

Skirting the edges of the battle, his star moved quickly, led by Yegro's _Ice Ferret_ with West's elementals clinging on for dear life as they traveled at more than a hundred kilometers per hour.

A few dots appeared on his radar. Descartin saw only 4 dots. _Easy pickings_, he decided.

"Yegro, flank 600 meters to the left. The rest of you, follow me in."

He changed his mind once the enemy came in sight. In front of them was the red and black _Archer_, along with a _Wolfhound_, a _Marauder_, and a _Wolverine_.

Descartin had no doubt they meant to destroy his force utterly.

"Stand off!" He shouted. If his guess was right, the _Archer _should be out of LRMs by now. If they could stay far away enough, their long range weapons should be able to take down its compatriots. "Keep away, and for Kerensky's sake, do not fire on the _Archer_!"

Sazur blasted away with his two PPCs on the right arm of his mech, the left arm weapons of his _Warhawk _having been blown off earlier. Both shots missed the fast moving _Wolverine_.

Descartin fired at the _Wolfhound_, connecting with one PPC on the heavily armored center. The light mech fired back with its large laser, punching through his torso armor. Sirens wailed in his cockpit as they warned of an engine breach.

Followed by the others, Descartin moved his mech around the Inner Sphere force, taking pains to avoid the deadly _Archer_ that was moving up to block their path of retreat back to their lines.

He sweated bullets as the two forces engaged in a race, the Kell Hounds trying to deny them a run home by moving laterally across their path of advance, while his own troops tried to stay away, wary of the _Archer_'s ability to pick apart their mechs. Only Yegro's _Ice Ferret_ was fast enough to hook around the Kell Hound position, and awaited them on the far side.

Descartin found himself squaring off with the _Wolfhound_ again and again. While normally his _Timber Wolf _should be able to destroy hordes of light mechs like the _Wolfhound_, the damage he had already taken in the battle meant that even its inferior large laser was capable of inflicting critical damage on his mech.

The _Wolfhound_ pilot was also extraordinarily good, hitting with his large laser more often than not, while Descartin's own PPCs missed far more often. Descartin ignored the numerous warnings of armor breach, heat sink loss, and actuator damage as red lights gradually appeared all over his console.

The _Wolfhound _finally went down as he managed to destroy the right leg, but he had also lost practically all the weapons on the right side of his mech. The other Kell hounds had been forced back by the clansmen firepower, except for the Archer, which came on stubbornly.

And Descartin realized, into range of its medium lasers.

The lasers sliced into Sazur's _Warhawk_, tearing away the right arm and leaving Sazur completely weaponless. Sazur scrambled backwards, shouting for help.

_I need to buy time for the others._ "Everybody, break past the _Archer_, I will try to occupy it for as long as possible!" Descartin stomped on his foot pedals, sending the _Timber Wolf_ flying towards the _Archer_. He fired his remaining PPC at the apex of his jump.

The PPC scored a hit, flensing away armor on the left torso.

"That was for Deserk, freebirth!" Descartin shouted in exultation. The _Arche_r could be hit!

But its lasers pounded away at the already crippled _Timber Wolf_, seeking out the vulnerable innards of the mech. Descartin twisted his mech from side to side, even as he saw the rest of his command rejoin Yegro on the far side of the hills.

Another status light for a heat sink winked from green to red. Descartin resisted the urge to wipe off the sweat pouring down into his eyes as he dueled with the _Archer_.

He was able to connect with some shots now that they were at point blank ranges, but it was too late. The _Archer_ tore into him, slicing away actuators and engine shielding, along with his weapons. His cockpit was bathed in red as they spoke of the tremendous damage his _Timber Wolf_ had endured.

A laser beam cut into his left leg, crippling the hip actuator just as Descartin was putting all the weight of the mech on that leg as he tried to turn to his left. The _Timber Wolf_ crashed to the ground.

"Stravag!" He cursed as he was bounced around in his cockpit. He tried to get the Timber Wolf up, but it had taken too much damage. It refused to move, the internal structure groaning as Descartin shuffled on the ground, trying to avoid the killing shot. He waited anxiously for the killing blow that never came.

His radio suddenly crackled with life. "All Nova Cats, this is Khan Leroux. Retreat! Retreat!"

Descartin stared at his sensors. The Nova Cats were indeed leaving the field to their enemies.

He peered out of his cockpit window, cracked into several spiderweb-like patterns by previous hits. The Kell Hounds were also pulling back. Evidently, they had also heard the order from Khan Leroux. The _Archer_ was walking away instead of finishing him off. Descartin leaned back tiredly in his seat, panting for breath as he tried to gather his wits to get up again.

Several minutes later, he rejoined the grievously short line of Nova Cats back to their dropships.

"Damn you to Amaris, Star Colonel," Descartin stared hard at Thaddeus Nostra. "If only you had done what I had suggested, we could have won the battle!"

He wanted to take a swing at his superior officer, but he was too tired to do so, and the 2Gs the dropship was pulling made that a difficult ask anyway.

Nostra sighed heavily. "I admit it, I should have done that, but orders are orders."

"If anyone is to be blamed, it should be me," The strong voice of Severen Leroux entered the small debrief cabin as the Khan of the Nova Cats walked in, followed by the massive bulk of Santin West. "I was the one who gave Colonel Nostra his orders. Evidently, I had misjudged the tenacity and valor of the Inner Sphere warriors. Do you wish to seek redress, Star Captain Descartin?"

Descartin wanted to look up and glare at his Khan. He wanted to jump up and strangle the life of the man who had cost them the battle, but he was too disheartened to do so. Dejected, he looked down at the metal floor of the room.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up to see Santin West, offering him a tattered unit patch of the Otomo with the other hand.

"One battle does not a war make, my friend. There will be other battles, other victories."

_Yes_, he told himself silently as he accepted the vineer, _and one of these days, I will kill that Archer pilot. For he was the one who had cost us the most._

"Sir, there's another one here!"

Woken by the shout, Deserk opened his eyes drowsily from the ruins of his ejection seat. He saw the treetop canopy above him, and the memory of the battle flew back into his consciousness.

_What the… _He sat up abruptly, just in time to see a laser rifle pointed at him by a blue clad infantryman. He stard into the dark barrel of the weapon, wondering if the freebirth would shoot him.

The infantryman was chewing a white elongated object with smoke coming out from one end, and he spoke languidly, "Hello, Nova Cat. Well, I suppose there's no harm in telling you right here and now that you're henceforth a bondsman of the Wolf Dragoons."


End file.
